
Book. ^P^^ 3 

Goipglit]^'«__Hl3_ 



CDRfRIGHT DEPOSm 



Extra Number X— Part One 




RIVERSIDE LITERATURE SERIES 

Complete Catalogue and Price List free upon application 



1. LronRfellow's Evangeline. 

2. Longfellow's Courtsliip of Miles Standish. 

3. Dniuiittiz;ition of Miles Standish, 

4. Whittier's Snow-Bouiid, etc. 

5. Whittier's Mabel Martin. 

C. Holmes's Grandmother's Story. 

7, 8, 9. Hawthorne's Grand lather's Chair. 

10. Hawthorne's Biographical Series. 

11. Longfellow's Children's Hour, etc. 
1:5, 1 1. Longfellow's Song of Hiawatha, 
l"). Lowell's Under the Old Elm, etc. 

1 1). Bayard Taylor's Lars. 

17, 18. Hawthorne's Wonder-Book. 

19, 20. Franklin's .\utobiograpliy. 

21. Franklin's Poor Kiehard's .\lmanac, etc. 

22, 23. Hawthorne's TanglewootI Tales. 

24. Washington's Farewell Addresses, etc. 

25, "26. Longfellow's Golden Legend. 
"27. Thoreau's Forest Trees, etc. 

28. Burroiighs's Birds and Bees. 

29. Hawthorne's Little Datfydowndilly, etc. 

30. Lowell's Vision of Sir Laiinfal, etc. 

31. Holmes's My Hunt after the Captain, etc. 

32. Lincoln's Gettyshnrg Speedi, etc. 
33-;y>. Longfellow's Tales of a Wayside Inn. 
30. Bnrroughs's Sharp Eyes, etc. 

37. Warner's A-Hnnting of the Deer, etc. 
.38. Longfellow's Building of the Ship, etc. 
30. Lowell's Books and Librarii's, etc. 

40. H.1W thorne's Tales of the White Hills. 

41. Whittier's Tent on the Beach, etc. 

42. Emerson's Fortune of the Republic, etc. 

43. Bryant's Ulys.ses among the I'hreacians. 

44. Eiigewortli's Waste not. Want not, etc. 
4r>. Macaulay's Lays of Ancient llome. 

40. Old Testament Stories. 

47, 48. Scndder's Fables and Folk Stories. 

49, 50. Andersen's Stories. 

51. Irving's Hip Van Winkle, etc. 

52. Irving's The Voyage, etc. 
.53. Scott's Lady of the Lake. 

54. Bryant's Tlianatopsis, etc. 

55. Shakesiienre's Mercliant of Venice. 
60. Webster's First Bunker Hill Oration. 

57. Dickens's Christmas Carol. 

58. Dickens's Cricket on the Hearth. 

59. Verse and Prose for Beginners in Reading. 
CO, CI. The Sir Roger de Coverley Papers. 

G2. Fiske's War of Iiidei)endence. 

C3. Longfellow's Paul Revere 's Ride, etc. 

64-0(>. Lambs' Tales from Shakespeare. 

07. Sliake»i)eare's Julius Ciesar. 

G8. Goldsmith's Di-serted Village, etc. 

C9. Hawthorne's The Old Manse, etc. 

70, 71. Selei-tion from Whittier's Child Life. 

72. Milton's Minor Poems. 

73. Tennyson's Enoch Arden, etc. 

74. Gray's Klegy ; Cowper's .lohn Gilpin. 

75. Scudiler's George Washington. 

7C. Wordsworth's Intimations of Immortality. 

77. Bums's Cotter's Saturday Night, etc. 

78. Goldsmith's Vi.-ar of Wakefield. 

79. Liiinb's Old China, etc. 



80. Coleridge's Ancient Mariner ; Campbell's 

Lochiel's Warning, etc. 

81. Holmes's Autocratof the Breakfast-Table. 

82. Hawthorne's Twice-Told Tales. 

83. Eliot's Silas Maruer. 

84. Dana's Two Years Before the Mast. 
8.">. Hughes's Tom Brown's School Days. 
80. Scott's Ivanhoe. 

87. Defoe's Robinson Crusoe. 

88. Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin. 

89. 90. Swift's Gulliver's Voyages. 

91. Hawthorne's House of the Seven Gables. 

92. Burroughs's A Bunch of Herb.s, etc. 

93. Shakespeare's .\s You Like It. 

94. Milton's Paradise Lost. Books I-III. 
9.5-98. Cooper's Last o« the Mohicans. 
99. Tennyson's Coming of Arthur, etc. 

1(K). Burke's Conciliation with the Colonies. 

101. Pope's Iliad. Books 1, VI, XXII. XXIV. 

102. Macaulay's .lohnson and Goldsmith. 

103. Macaulay's Milton. 
UM. Macaulay's Addison. 

10.">. Carlyle's Es.say on Burns. 
KHl. Shakespeare's Macbeth. 
107, 108. Grinnns' Tales. 

109. Banyan's Pilgrim's Progress. 

110. De (iuincey's Flight of a Tartar Tribe. 
HI. Tennyson's Princess. 

112. Cranch's vEiieid. Books I-III. 

113. Poems from Kmer.son. 

114. Peabody's Old Greek Folk Stories. 
ll.">. Browning's Pied Piper of Hamelin, etc. 
110. Shakespeare's Hamlet. 

117, 118. Stories from the Arabian Nights. 
119, 120. Poe's Poems and Tales. 

121. Speeidi by Hayne on Foote's Resolution. 

122. Speech by Webster in Reply to Haj-ne. 

123. Lowell's Democracy, etc. 

l'J4. .'ildrich's The Cruise of the Dolphin. 
1'25. Dryden's Palamon and .Arcite. 
12(;. Buskin's King of the Golden River, etc. 
127. Keats's Ode on a Grecian Urn, etc. 
12.'''. Byron's Prisoner of Chillon, etc. 

129. Plato's Judgment of Socrates. 

130. Emerson's The Superlative, etc. 

131. Emerson's Nature, etc. 

132. Arnold's Sohrab and Rustum, etc. 
i:{3. Schurz's Abraham Lincoln. 

134. Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel. 

l.'iS. Chaucer's Prologue. 

!:«!. Ch.aucer's The Knight's Tale, etc. 

137. Bry.ant's Iliad. Bks. I, VI, XXII, XXIV. 

138. Hawthorne's The Custom House, etc. 

139. Howell.s's Doorstep Acipiaintance, etc. 

140. Thackeray's Henry Esmond. 

141. Higginson's Three Outdoor Papers. 

142. Ruskin's Sessinie .ind Lilies. 

143. Plutarch's .•\lexander the Great. 

144. Scndder's The Book of Legends. 

145. Hawthorne's The Gentle Boy, etc. 
140. Longfellow's Giles Corey. 

147. Pope's Rape of the Lock, etc. 

148. Hawthorne's Marble Faun. 



(See. also back covers.) 



(74) 



7 

POEMS FOR THE STUDY 

OF LANGUAGE 

PRESCRIBED IN THE COURSE OF STUDY FOR THE 
COMMON SCHOOLS OF ILLINOIS ^^/ 



PART ONE ^^9i^ 

FOR THIRD AND FOURTH YEARS 

WITH SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS 

BY 
CHESTINE GOWDY 

Formerly Teacher of Grammar in the Illinois State Normal University 

Revised Edition, 1919 




BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 



OFFICIAL endorsement"^ ^^,0^^ 

The publication of this book was approved and endorsed by the 
Standing Committee on the lUinois State Course of Study at a 
special meeting held during the convention of the Illinois State 
Teachers' Association at Springfield, Illinois, December 27-29, 1904. 



The present revised edition contains the poems recom- 
mended for language study, in the latest (1919) revision of 
the Official Course of Study, with the exception of seven 
omitted because of copyright restrictions or because of the 
limitations of space. The collection is available in three parts, 
each covering two years. Suggestions to Teachers are printed 
in Part One, and Biographical Sketches in Part Three. 



COPYRIGHT 1905 AND I907 BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
COrVRIGHT, I913 AND :9I9, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

.2 a 

Acknowledgment is due to Charles Scribner's Sons for the use of 
The Ruby-Crowned Kinglet, taken from The Toiling of Felix and 
Other Poems, by Henry van Dyke, for Nightfall in Dordrecht, taken 
from Second Book of Verse, by Eugene Field, and for Requiem, by 
Robert Louis Stevenson; to D. Appleton & Co. for The Story of the 
Wood from Little Folks Down South, by Frank L. Stanton, and for 
the poems quoted from William Cullen Bryant; to Little, Brown 
and Company for Down to Sleep, by Helen Hunt Jackson; to E. P. 
Dutton and Company for Christmas Everywhere, by Phillips Brooks, 
and The Bluebird, by Emily Huntington Miller; to Fleming H. 
Revel! Company for Our Flag, taken from Lyrics of Love, by Mar- 
garet Sangster. 

Thanks are also due to the following authors for courteous permis- 
sion to use the poems mentioned: to Eben E. Rexford for The Blue- 
bird; and to Richard Burton for Christmastide. 



CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 




NOV -8 .319 
OCI.A5y64o8 



SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS 

Literature in a Language Course. 

Language work in our elementary schools should deal 
chiefly with the art of speech. Only when pupils have reached 
the last years of their common-school course are they ready 
for any study of the science of language. But long before this 
time they should begin to acquire power in self-expression. 
Such language training should be provided as will tend to give 
some measure of clearness, freedom, and virility, as well as 
formal correctness of speech. 

The outline for language work in the Illinois State Course 
of Study was prepared in the belief that wealth of thought 
and power in expression must develop together. In the series 
of composition exercises suggested in the course of study, the 
natural interests of the child are recognized, — the interests 
that grow out of his home life, the life of the community, and 
the character of the surrounding country. To write accept- 
ably he must write about subjects of which he has knowledge. 
But any series of language lessons that does not tend to make 
his own life and the world of which he is a part more interest- 
ing to him, more full of things to write about and talk about, 
is likely to fail of large language results. To help broaden and 
deepen the interests of the pupils, as well as to provide high 
ideals of expression, several poems for study are named each 
month in addition to the composition exercises and the more 
formal work of the course. Nearly 180 poems are included 
in the six years' work outlined. They are brought together 
in the three Parts of this collection, excepting only three 
which copyright restrictions made it impossible to print; also 
the limitations of space compelled the omission of the two 
complete plays of Shakespeare called for bj' the course, and 
the two long poems "Horatius at the Bridge," and "John 
Gilpin's Ride." 

Part One of this collection covers the Third and Fourth 
Years, and includes 63 poems; Part Two covers the Fifth 
and Sixth Years, and includes 62 poems; and Part Three 



iv SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS 

covers the Seventh and Eighth Years and includes 48 poems, 
and also biographical sketches of the eight American and 
English poets most numerously represented in the collection. 

Poems to be Studied Primarily as Literature. 

The wise teacher will ask about each poem first of all, how 
it may be made to give pleasure and awaken thought. She 
will see in it a piece of literature, not merely material for a 
language lesson. The chief aim m teaching a descriptive 
poem should be to make the pictures in the poem more vivid, 
and thus to awaken the imagination or to kindle an appre- 
ciation of kindred beauties in the pupU's immediate environ- 
ment. In teaching a narrative poem the sequence of events 
must first be made clear. After that is accomplished, the aim 
should be to give fuller meaning to the story by bringing out 
clearly the causes, motives, and results of acts. 

The younger pupils will enjoy the poems without any 
thought of why they like them, but unconsciously their 
thought and speech will be moulded by the study. In the 
higher classes effective expressions and passages should be 
pointed out, and the means of producing effects should be 
noted. 

Language Values in the Work. 

But while the poems are to be studied primarily as litera- 
ture, the teacher should be keenly conscious of the possibili- 
ties for language training connected with the work. 

The study of literature more than any other subject de- 
mands leisurely work, time for thought to ripen and to find 
fitting expression. The true literature class is a conversa- 
tion class, — a class in which each pupil is led to interpret 
the author, and to express his own thoughts without self- 
consciousness. It is of necessity a class in the art of expression. 

Studying and memorizing the poems must enlarge the 
reading vocabularies of the pupils. The teacher should see 
that the work is made to enrich their writing and their speak- 
ing vocabularies as well. Children are too often satisfied with 
a slender list of words representing very general ideas. One 
word is made to serve for a variety of special uses, the hearer 
being trusted to interpret it according to the circumstances 
under which it is used. In the talk about the poem the teacher 



I 



SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS v 

should use the new and more definite words of the poet, thus 
leading his pupils to do the same. Professor George Herbert 
Palmer says, "Let any one who wants to see himself grow, 
resolve to adopt two new words each week. It will not be 
long before the endless and enchanting variety of the world 
will begin to reflect itself in his speech and in his mind as 
well." Does not this suggest an ideal which every language 
teacher should have for his pupils, and which he should strive 
to impart to them before their school lives end? 
A few special word exercises may be suggested: 

1. Make a list of descriptive words in the poem. What does 
each describe.'' Use it to describe something else. 

2. Make a list of words that you never use. What word 
should you have used in the place of each if you had tried 
to express its meaning.? Which word is better, yours or the 
author's? Why? 

3. Give as many synonyms as you can for the following 
words (these to be selected by the teacher from the poem). 
Did the author make a good choice in each case? 

Relation of Study to Composition Exercises. 

Compositions should not often be based directly upon the 
poems. Pupils must be able to tell or write the story pre- 
sented by a narrative poem, but no paraphrasing of descrip- 
tive passages should be called for. The conversations of the 
class hour will, however, often suggest subjects for compo- 
sitions ; and the general character of a poem studied in a given 
month has often determined the character of a composition 
suggested for the month. For example, a descriptive poem is 
often accompanied by a descriptive composition; and a nar- 
rative poem by a narrative composition. 

Method of Presentation. 

With younger children every poem should be studied first 
in class. After a few words of introduction fitted to arouse 
the interest of the children or to remove any bar between 
them and the poet, the teacher should read the poem as well 
as she can, not stopping for comment unless it seem neces- 
sary to do so in order to hold the interest of the children. 
After this first reading, the poem should be read again part 



vi SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS 

by part. This is the time for question, explanation, and dis- 
cussion. If time permit, the teacher should now read the poem 
a third time, that the final impression may be left by the 
author's own words. The whole or a part of the poem should 
now be memorized. Children will in this way learn with de- 
light poems which they could not read by themselves with 
understanding or pleasure. 

With older pupils the amount of help given by the teacher 
should depend upon the character of the special poem to be 
studied. For example, in the seventh month of the sixth year 
Incident of the French Camp, and The Voice of Spring are two 
of the poems named. The former is a simple narrative poem, 
involving no difficulties in meaning or phraseology. It may 
be studied from the book with no help from the teacher but a 
simple statement of the character of the preparation to be 
made. When class time comes, the pupils may be expected to 
tell the story clearly. 

The Voice of Spring is a descriptive poem, dependent for 
its charm upon the music of the rhythm and its appropri- 
ateness to the joyous progress described by the poem, and 
upon the pictures presented, many of which are unfamiliar 
to Illinois children. The teacher's success here depends upon 
his own appreciation and enjoyment of the poem and his 
power to arouse these feelings in his pupils. This poem must 
be studied in class before the pupils are asked even to read it. 

Chestine Gowdv. 



CONTENTS 



t 



THffiD YEAR 

First Month 

Robert of Lincoln William CuUen Bryant 1 

Nightfall in Dordrecht Eugene Field 3 

The Man in the Moon James Whiteomb Riley 5 

The Jumblies Edward Lear 7 

Choosing a Name Mary Lamb 9 

Second Month 

The Corn-Song John Greenleaf Whittier 10 

Good-Night and Good-Morning Lord Houghton 12 

The Kitten and Falling Leaves W. Wordsworth 13 

The Pobble who has no Toes Edward Lear 14 

Third Month 

Down to Sleep Helen Hunt Jackson 16 

We Thank Thee Ralph Waldo Emerson 17 

How the Leaves Came Down Susan Coolidge 18 

Little Orphant Annie James Whiteomb Riley 19 

Fourth Month 

Piccola Gelia Thaxter 22 

A Christmas Carol Dinah Mulock Craik 23 

Old Christmas Mary Howitt 24 

The Lost Doll Charles Kingsley 25 

Fifth Month 

The Sea Barry Cornwall 26 

At Sea Allan Cunningham 27 

The Pelican Chorus Edward Lear 28 

The Walrus and the Carpenter Lewis Carroll 31 

Sixth Month 

Our Flag Margaret Sangster 35 

The Star-Spangled Banner Francis Scott Key 35 

The Children's Hour Henry W. Longfellow 37 

The Raggedy Man James Whiteomb Riley 39 



CONTENTS 



Seventh Month 

The Planting of the Apple-Tree W. C. Bryant 42 

Wishing William Allingham 45 

The Nine Little Goblins James Whitcomb Riley 46 

Before the Rain Thomas Bailey Aldrich 48 

The Grass Emily Dickinson 48 

Dandelions Helen Gray Cone 49 



Eighth Month 
The Brook 
The Bluebird 
Spring 
A Boy's Song 



Alfred, Lord Tennyson 50 

Emily Huntington Miller 52 

Celia Thaxter 52 

James Hogg 53 



FOURTH YEAR 



First Month 

Ballad of the Tempest 

Romance 

The Spider and the Fly 



James T. Fields 54 

Gabriel Setoun 55 

Mary Hov/itt 57 



Second Month 

Robin Redbreast William Allingham 60 

The Mountain and the Squirrel R. W. Emerson 61 

The Story of the Wood Frank L. Stanton 62 



Third Month 

A Child's Thought of God 
The Village Blacksmith 
To Mother Fairie 

Fourth Month 

Little Gottlieb 

The Sparrows 

While Shepherds Watched 



E. B. Browning 64 

H. W. Longfellow 05 

Alice Cary 67 



Phoebe Cary 68 

Celia Thaxter 72 

Nahum Tate 74 



Fifth Month 

Sir Patrick Spens Old Ballad 75 

The Emperor's Bird's-Nest H. W. Longfellow 79 

The Snowstorm Ralph Waldo Emerson 81 



CONTENTS ix 

Sixth Month 

Paul Revere's Ride H. W. Longfellow 82 

The Minstrel Boy Thomas Moore 87 

Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean D. T. Shaw 88 

Seventh Month 

' March William Wordsworth 88 

The Pied Piper of Hamelin Robert Browning 89 

The Child's World Matthew Browne 100 

Sweet Peas John Keats 100 

Eighth Month 

The Eagle Alfred, Lord Tennyson 101 

The Sandpiper Celia Thaxter 101 

The Owl Alfred, Lord Tennyson 102 

The Bluebird Eben Eugene Rexford 103 
Home-Thoughts, from Abroad Robert Browning 104 

Green Things Growing Duiah Mulock Craik 105 



POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF 
LANGUAGE 

THIRD YEAR 
FIRST MONTH 

ROBERT OF LINCOLN 

Merrily swinging on brier and weed, 
Near to the nest of his little dame. 
Over the mountain-side or mead, 

Robert of Lincoln is telling his name: 

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 5 

Spink, spank, spink; 
Snug and safe is that nest of ours. 
Hidden among the summer flowers. 

Chee, chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest, 10 

Wearing a bright black wedding-coat; 
White are his shoulders and white his crest. 
Hear him call in his merry note : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink; 15 

Look, what a nice new coat is mine. 
Sure there was never a bird so fine. 

Chee, chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife. 
Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, 20 



2 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Passing at home a patient life, 

Broods in the grass while her husband sings : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink; 
Brood, kind creature; you need not fear 25 
Thieves and robbers while I am here. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Modest and shy as a nun is she; 

One weak chirp is her only note. 
Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, 30 

Pouring boasts from his little throat: 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink; 
Never was I afraid of man; 
Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can! 35 

Chee, chee, chee. 

Six white eggs on a bed of hay. 

Flecked with purple, a pretty sight! 
There as the mother sits all day, 

Robert is singing with all his might 40 

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link 
Spink, spank, spink; 
Nice good wife, that never goes out. 
Keeping house while I frolic about. 

Chee, chee, chee. 45 

Soon as the little ones chip the shell, 
Six wide mouths are open for food; 

Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well. 
Gathering seeds for the hungry brood. 



THIRD YEAR — FIRST MONTH 3 

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 50 

Spink, spank, spink; 
This new life is likely to be 
Hard for a gay young fellow like me. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln at length is made 55 

Sober with work, and silent with care; 
Off is his holiday garment laid, 
Half forgotten that merry air: 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink; 60 

Nobody knows but my mate and I 
Where our nest and our nestlings lie, 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Summer wanes; the children are grown; 

Fun and frolic no more he knows; 65 

Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone; 
Ofi he flies, and we sing as he goes: 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-hnk, 
Spink, spank, spink; 
When you can pipe that merry old strain, 70 
Robert of Lincoln, come back again. 

Chee, chee, chee. 

William Cullen Bryant 

NIGHTFALL IN DORDRECHT 

The m.ill goes toiling slowly around 

With steady and solemn creak, 
And my little one hears in the kindly sound 

The voice of the old mill speak. 



POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

While round and round those big white wings 5 

Grimly and ghostlike creep, 
My little one hears that the old mill sings 

"Sleep, little tulip, sleep!" 

The sails are reefed and the nets are drawn, 

And, over his pot of beer, 10 

The fisher, against the morrow's dawn, 

Lustily maketh cheer. 
He mocks at the winds that caper along 

From the far-off clamorous deep, — 
But we — we love their lullaby song 15 

Of "Sleep, little tulip, sleep!" 

Old dog Fritz in slumber sound 

Groans of the stony mart: 
To-morrow how proudly he '11 trot you round, 

Hitched to our new milk-cart ! 20 

And you shall help me blanket the kine 

And fold the gentle sheep. 
And set the herring a-soak in brine, — 

But now, little tulip, sleep! 

A Dream-One comes to button the eyes 25 

That wearily droop and blink. 
While the old mill buffets the frowning skies 

And scolds at the stars that wink; 
Over your face the misty wings 

Of that beautiful Dream-One sweep, 30 

And rocking your cradle she softly sings, 

"Sleep, little tulip, sleep!" 

Eugene Field 



THIRD YEAR — FIRST MONTH 5 

THE MAN IN THE MOON ^ 

Said The Raggedy Man, on a hot afternoon: 
My! 
' Sakes ! 

What a lot o' mistakes 
Some Uttle folks makes on The Man in the Moon! 5 
But people that's be'n up to see him, like me. 
And calls on him frequent and intimuttly. 
Might drop a few facts that would interest you 
Clean ! 

Through!— 10 

If you wanted 'em to — 
Some actual facts that might interest you ! 

O The Man in the Moon has a crick in his back; 
Whee! 

Whimm! 15 

Ain't you sorry for him? 
And a mole on his nose that is purple and black; 
And his eyes are so weak that they water and run 
If he dares to dream even he looks at the sun, — 
So he jes' dreams of stars, as the doctors advise — 20 
My! 
Eyes! 

But is n't he wise — 
To jes' dream of stars, as the doctors advise? 

And The Man in the Moon has a boil on his ear — 25 

Whee! 

Whing! 

What a singular thing! 

^ From the Biographical Edition of the Complete Works of James 
Whitcomh Riley. Copyright, 1913. Used by special permission of the 
publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company. 



6 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

I know ! but these facts are authentic, my dear, — 
There 's a boil on his ear; and a corn on his chin — 30 
He calls it a dimple — but dimples stick in — 
Yet it might be a dimple turned over, you know! 
Whang ! 
Ho! 

Why, certainly so ! — 35 

It might be a dimple turned over, you know! 

And The Man in the Moon has a rheumatic knee — 
Gee! 
Whiz! 

What a pity that is! 40 

And his toes have worked round where his heels ought 

to be. — 
So whenever he wants to go North he goes South, 
And comes back with porridge-crumbs all round his 

mouth. 
And he brushes them off with a Japanese fan, 

Whing! 45 

Whann ! 

What a marvelous man! 
What a very remarkably marvelous man ! 

And The Man in the Moon, sighed The Raggedy Man, 
Gits ! 50 

So! 

SuP-onesome, you know, — 
Up there by hisse'f sence creation began ! — 
That when I call on him and then come away. 
He grabs me and holds me and begs me to stay, — 55 
T'lW-Well ! if it was n't fer Jimmy-cum-jim, 



THIRD YEAR — FIRST MONTH 7 

Dadd! 
Limb! 

I 'd go pardners with him — 
Jes' jump my job here and be pardners with him ! 60 

James Whitcomb Riley 

THE JUMBLIES 

They went to sea in a sieve, they did; 

In a sieve they went to sea; 
In spite of all their friends could say. 
On a winter's morn, on a stormy day. 

In a sieve they went to sea. 5 

And when the sieve turn'd round and round, 
And every one cried, "You'll be drown'd!" 
They call'd aloud, "Our sieve ain't big: 
But we don't care a button; we don't care a fig: 
In a sieve we'll go to sea!" 10 

Far and few, far and few, 

Are the lands where the Jumblies live: 
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue; 
And they went to sea in a sieve. 

They sail'd away in a sieve, they did, 15 

In a sieve they sail'd so fast. 
With only a beautiful pea-green veil 
Tied with a ribbon, by way of a sail. 

To a small tobacco-pipe mast. 
And every one said who saw them go, 20 

"Oh! won't they be soon upset, you know: 
For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long; 
And, happen what may, it 's extremely wrong 

In a sieve to sail so fast." 



8 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

The water it soon came in, it did; 25 

The water it soon came in : 
So, to keep them dry, they wrapp'd their feet 
In a pinky paper all folded neat: 

And they fasten 'd it down with a pin. 
And they pass'd the night in a crockery-jar; 30 

And each of them said, "How wise we are! 
Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long, 
Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong. 

While round in our sieve we spin." 

And all night long they sail'd away; 35 

And, when the sun went down. 
They whistled and warbled a moony song 
To the echoing sound of a coppery gong. 

In the shade of the mountains brown, 
" O Timballoo ! how happy we are 40 

When we live in a sieve and a crockery- jar ! 
And all night long, in the moonlight pale. 
We sail away with a pea-green sail 

In the shade of the mountains brown." 

They sail'd to the Western Sea, they did, — 45 

To a land all cover'd with trees: 
And they bought an owl, and a useful cart. 
And a pound of rice, and a cranberry-tart. 

And a hive of silvery bees; 
And they bought a pig, and some green jackdaws, 50 
And a lovely monkey with lollipop paws. 
And forty bottles of ring-bo-ree. 

And no end of Stilton cheese: 

And in twenty years they all came back, — 

In twenty years or more; 65 



THIRD YEAR — FIRST MONTH 9 

And every one said, "How tall they've grown! 

For they 've been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone, 

And the hills of the Chankly Bore." 
And they drank their health, and gave them a feast 
Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast; 60 

And every one said, "If we only live. 
We, too, will go to sea in a sieve, 
To the hills of the Chankly Bore." 
Far and few, far and few. 

Are the lands where the Jumblies live: 65 

Their heads are green, and their hands are blue; 
And they went to sea in a sieve. 

Edward Lear 

CHOOSING A NAME 

I HAVE got a new-born sister; 

I was nigh the first that kissed her. 

When the nursing-woman brought her 

To Papa, his infant daughter. 

How Papa's dear eyes did glisten ! — 5 

She will shortly be to christen; 

And Papa has made the offer 

I shall have the naming of her. 

Now I wonder what would please her, — 
Charlotte, Julia, or Louisa.'* 10 

Ann and Mary, they're too common; 
Joan's too formal for a woman. 
Jane 's a prettier name beside, 
But we had a Jane that died. 
They would say, if 't was Rebecca, 15 

That she was a little Quaker. 



10 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Edith 's pretty, but that looks 

Better in old English books; 

Ellen's left off long ago; 

Blanche is out of fashion now. 20 

None that I have named as yet 

Are so good as Margaret. 

Emily is neat and fine; 

What do you think of Caroline? 

How I'm puzzled and perplexed 25 

What to choose or think of next! 

I am in a little fever 

Lest the name that I should give her 

Should disgrace her or defame her; — 

I will leave Papa to name her. 30 

Mary Lamb 

SECOND MONTH 

THE CORN-SONG 

Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard! 

High heap the golden corn! 
No richer gift has Autumn poured 

From out her lavish horn! 

Let other lands, exulting, glean 5 

The apple from the pine, 
The orange from its glossy green, 

The cluster from the vine; 

We better love the hardy gift 

Our rugged vales bestow, 10 

To cheer us when the storm shall drift 

Our harvest-fields with snow. 



THIRD YEAR — SECOND MONTH 11 

Through vales of grass and meads of flowers 

Our ploughs their furrows made, 
While on the hills the sun and showers 15 

Of changeful April played. 

We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain 

Beneath the sun of May, 
And frightened from our sprouting grain 

The robber crows away. 20 

All through the long, bright days of Jmie 

Its leaves grew green and fair, 
And waved in hot midsummer's noon 

Its soft and yellow hair. 

And now, with Autumn's moonlit eves, 25 

Its harvest-time has come. 
We pluck away the frosted leaves. 

And bear the treasure home. 

There, when the snows about us drift. 

And winter winds are cold, 30 

Fair hands the broken grain shall sift, 
And knead its meal of gold. 

Let vapid idlers loll in silk 

Around their costly board; 
Give us the bowl of samp and milk, 35 

By homespun beauty poured ! 

Where'er the wide old kitchen hearth 

Sends up its smoky curls, 
Who will not thank the kindly earth. 

And bless our farmer girls ! 40 



12 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Then shame on all the proud and vain, 

Whose folly laughs to scorn 
The blessing of our hardy grain, 

Our wealth of golden corn! 

Let earth withhold her goodly root, 45 

Let mildew blight the rye, 
Give to the worm the orchard's fruit, 

The wheat-field to the fly: 

But let the good old crop adorn 

The hills our fathers trod; 50 

Still let us, for His golden corn, 
Send up our thanks to God! 

John Greenleaf Whittier 

GOOD-NIGHT AND GOOD-MORNING 

A FAIR little girl sat under a tree. 

Sewing as long as her eyes could see; 

Then smoothed her work and folded it right 

And said, "Dear work, good-night, good-night!" 

Such a number of rooks came over her head, 5 

Crying "Caw! Caw!" on their way to bed. 
She said, as she watched their curious flight, 
"Little black things, good-night, good-night!" 

The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed. 

The sheep's "Bleat! Bleat!" came over the road; 10 

All seeming to say, with a quiet delight, 

"Good little girl, good-night, good-night!" 

She did not say to the sun, "Good-night!" 
Though she saw him there like a ball of light; 



THIRD YEAR — SECOND MONTH 13 

For she knew he had God's time to keep 15 

All over the world and never could sleep. 

The tall pink foxglove bowed his head; 

The violets curtsied, and went to bed; 

And good little Lucy tied up her hair, 

And said, on her knees, her favorite prayer. 20 

And while on her pillow she softly lay. 
She knew nothing more till again it was day; 
And all things said to the beautiful sun, 
"Good-morning, good-morning! our work is begun." 

Lord Houghton 

SELECTION FROM THE KITTEN AND 
FALLING LEAVES 

That way look, my Infant, lo ! 

What a pretty baby-show! 

See the Kitten on the wall. 

Sporting with the leaves that fall, 

Withered leaves — one — two — and three — 5 

From the lofty elder-tree! 

Through the calm and frosty air 

Of this morning bright and fair. 

Eddying round and round they sink 

Softly, slowly: one might think, 10 

From the motions that are made, 

Every little leaf conveyed 

Sylph or Faery hither tending, — 

To this lower world descending. 

Each invisible and mute, 15 

In his wavering parachute. 



14 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

— But the Kitten, how she starts. 

Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts! 

First at one, and then its fellow 

Just as light and just as yellow; 20 

There are many now — now one — 

Now they stop and there are none. 

What intenseness of desire 

In her upward eye of fire ! 

With a tiger-leap half-way 25 

Now she meets the coming prey, 

Lets it go as fast, and then 

Has it in her power again: 

Now she works with three or four, 

Like an Indian conjurer; 30 

Quick as he in feats of art. 

Far beyond in joy of heart. 

Were her antics played in the eye 

Of a thousand standers-by. 

Clapping hands with shout and stare, 35 

What would little Tabby care 

For the plaudits of the crowd? 

Over happy to be proud. 

Over wealthy in the treasure 

Of her own exceeding pleasure! 40 



William Wordsworth 



THE POBBLE WHO HAS NO TOES 

The Pobble who has no toes 

Had once as many as we; 
When they said, "Some day you may lose them all," 

He replied, "Fish fiddle de-dee!" 



THIRD YEAR — SECOND MONTH 15 

And his Aunt Jobiska made him drink 5 

Lavender water tinged with pink; 
For she said, "The World in general knows 
There's nothing so good for a pobble's toes!" 

The Pobble who has no toes 

Swam across the Bristol Channel; 10 

But before he set out he wrapped his nose 

In a piece of scarlet flannel. 
For his Aunt Jobiska said, "No harm 
Can come to his toes if his nose is warm; 
And it's perfectly known that a Pobble's toes 15 
Are safe — provided he minds his nose." 

The Pobble swam fast and well. 

And when boats or ships came near him. 
He tinkledy-binkledy-winkled a bell 

So that all the world could hear him. 20 

And all the Sailors and Admirals cried, 
When they saw him nearing the farther side, 
"He has gone to fish for his Aunt Jobiska's 
Runcible Cat with crimson whiskers!" 

But before he touched the shore — 25 

The shore of the Bristol Channel, 
A sea-green Porpoise carried away 

His wrapper of scarlet flannel. 
And when he came to observe his feet, 
Formerly garnished with toes so neat, 30 

His face at once became forlorn 
On perceiving that all his toes were gone! 

And nobody ever knew. 

From that dark day to the present, 



16 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Whoso had taken the Pebble's toes, 35 

In a manner so far from pleasant. 
Whether the shrimps or crawfish gray, 
Or crafty mermaids stole them away, 
Nobody knew; and nobody knows 
How the Pobble was robbed of his twice five toes! 40 

The Pobble who has no toes 

Was placed in a friendly Bark, 
And they rowed him back and carried him up 

To his Aunt Jobiska's Park. 
And she made him a feast at his earnest wish, 45 

Of eggs and buttercups fried with fish; 
And she said, "It's a fact the whole world knows. 
That Pobbles are happier without their toes." 

Edward Lear 

THIRD MONTH 

DOWN TO SLEEP 

November woods are bare and still; 
November days are clear and bright; 
Each noon burns up the morning's chill; 
The morning's snow is gone by night; 
Each day my steps grow slow, grow light, 5 
As through the woods I reverent creep, 
Watching all things lie "down to sleep." 

I never knew before what beds. 

Fragrant to smell, and soft to touch, 

The forest sifts and shapes and spreads; 10 

I never knew before how much 

Of human sound there is in such 



THIRD YEAR — THIRD MONTH 17 

Low tones as through the forest sweep 
When all wild things lie "down to sleep." 

Each day I find new coverlids 15 

Tucked in, and more sweet eyes shut tight; 

Sometimes the viewless mother bids 

Her ferns kneel down, full in my sight; 

I hear their chorus of "good-night"; 

And half I smile, and half I weep, 20 

Listening while they lie "down to sleep." 

November woods are bare and still; 

November days are bright and good; 

Life's noon burns up life's morning chill; 

Life's night rests feet which long have stood; 25 

Some warm, soft bed, in field or wood, 

The mother will not fail to keep. 

Where we can lay us "down to sleep." 

Helen Hunt Jackson 



WE THANK THEE 

For flowers that bloom about our feet. 
For tender grass so fresh and sweet, 
For song of bird and hum of bee. 
For all things fair we hear or see, — 

Father in Heaven, we thank Thee! 5 

For blue of stream and blue of sky. 
For pleasant shade of branches high. 
For fragrant air and cooling breeze. 
For beauty of the blooming trees, — 

Father in Heaven, we thank Thee ! 10 



18 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

For mother-love and father-care, 
For brothers strong and sisters fair, 
For love at home and here each day, 
For guidance lest we go astray, 

Father in Heaven, we thank Thee ! 15 

For this new morning with its light, 
For rest and shelter of the night, 
For health and food, for love and friends. 
For ev'rything His goodness sends, 

Father in Heaven, we thank Thee ! 20 

Ralph Waldo Emerson{?) 



HOW THE LEAVES CAME DOWN 

I'll tell you how the leaves came down. 

The great Tree to his children said, 
"You're getting sleepy. Yellow and Brown, 

Yes, very sleepy, little Red; 

It is quite time you went to bed." 5 

"Ah!" begged each silly, pouting leaf, 

"Let us a little longer stay; 
Dear Father Tree, behold our grief, 

'T is such a very pleasant day 

We do not want to go away." 10 

So, just for one more merry day 

To the great Tree the leaflets clung. 

Frolicked and danced and had their way. 
Upon the autumn breezes swung. 
Whispering all their sports among, 15 



THIRD YEAR — THIRD MONTH 19 

"Perhaps the great Tree will forget 

And let us stay until the spring. 
If we all beg and coax and fret." 

But the great Tree did no such thing; 

He smiled to hear their whispering. 20 

"Come, children all, to bed," he cried; 
And ere the leaves could urge their prayer 

He shook his head, and far and wide. 
Fluttering and rustling everywhere, 
Down sped the leaflets through the air. 25 

I saw them; on the ground they lay. 
Golden and red, a huddled swarm, 

Waiting till one from far away. 

White bedclothes heaped upon her arm. 
Should come to wrap them safe and warm. 30 

The great bare Tree looked down and smiled. 
"Good-night, dear little leaves," he said; 

And from below each sleepy child 

Replied "Good-night," and murmured, 
"It is so nice to go to bed." 35 

Stisan Coolidge 

LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE ^ 

Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay. 
An' wash the cups and saucers up, an' brush the 
crumbs away, 

^ From the Biographical Edition of the Complete Worlcs of James 
Whitcomb Riley. Copyright, 1913. Used by special permission of 
the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company. 



20 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the 

hearth, an' sweep, 
An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her 

board-an'-keep ; 
An' all us other children, when the supper things is 
done, 5 

We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun 
A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about. 
An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you 
Ef you 

Don't 

Watch 
Out! 



Onc't they was a little boy would n't say his 
pray'rs — 10 

An' when he went to bed at night, away up stairs. 
His mammy heerd him holler, an' his daddy heerd 

him bawl. 
An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he was n't 

there at all ! 
An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby- 
hole, an' press. 
An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'wheres, 
I guess; 15 

But all they ever found was thist his pants an' round- 
about! 
An' the Gobble-uns '11 git you 
Ef you 

Don't 

Watch 
Out! 



I 



THIRD YEAR — THIRD MONTH 21 

An' one time a little girl 'ud alius laugh an' grin, 
An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'- 
kin; 20 

An' onc't when they was "company," an' ole folks was 

there, 
She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she did n't care ! 
An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' 

hide, 
They was two great big Black Things a-standin' by 

her side. 
An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she 
knowed what she's about! 25 

An' the Gobble-uns '11 git you 
Ef you 

Don't 

Watch 
Out! 

An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue, 
An' the lampwick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo! 
An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray, 30 
An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away, — 
You better mind yer parents, and yer teachers fond 

and dear, 
An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant 's 

tear. 
An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about, 
Er the Gobble-uns '11 git you 35 

Ef you 

Don't 

Watch 
Out! 

James Whitcomb Riley 



22 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 
FOURTH MONTH 

PICCOLA 

Poor, sweet Piccola ! Did you hear 
What happened to Piccola, children dear? 
'T is seldom Fortune such favor grants 
As fell to this little maid of France. 

'T was Christmas-time, and her parents poor 5 
Could hardly drive the wolf from the door, 
Striving with poverty's patient pain 
Only to live till summer again. 

No gifts for Piccola! Sad were they 

When dawned the morning of Christmas-day; 10 

Their little darling no joy might stir, 

St. Nicholas nothing would bring to her! 

But Piccola never doubted at all 

That something beautiful must befall 

Every child upon Christmas-day, 15 

And so she slept till the dawn was gray. 

And full of faith, when at last she woke, 

She stole to her shoe as the morning broke; 

Such sounds of gladness filled all the air, 

'T was plain St. Nicholas had been there ! 20 

In rushed Piccola sweet, half -wild: 

Never was seen such a joyful child. 

"See what the good saint brought!" she cried, 

And mother and father must peep inside. 



THIRD YEAR — FOURTH MONTH 23 

Now such a story who ever heard? 25 

There was a Uttle shivering bird! 

A sparrow, that in at the window flew. 

Had crept into Piccola's tiny shoe! 

"How good poor Piccola must have been!" 
She cried, as happy as any queen, 30 

While the starving sparrow she fed and warmed. 
And danced with rapture, she was so charmed. 

Children, this story I tell to you. 

Of Piccola sweet and her bird, is true. 

In the far-off land of France, they say, 35 

Still do they live to this very day. 

Celia Thaxter 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL 

God rest ye, merry gentlemen; let nothing you dis- 
may. 

For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas 
Day. 

The dawn rose red o'er Bethlehem, the stars shone 
through the gray. 

When Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christ- 
mas Day. 

God rest ye, little children ; let nothing you affright, 5 
For Jesus Christ, your Saviour, was born this happy 

night; 
Along the hills of Galilee the white flocks sleeping lay, 
When Christ, the Child of Nazareth, was born on 

Christmas Day. 



24 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

God rest ye, all good Christians; upon this blessed 

morn 
The Lord of all good Christians was of a woman 

born : 10 

Now all your sorrows He doth heal, your sins He takes 

away; 
For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas 

Day. 

Dinah Mulock Craik 



OLD CHRISTMAS 

Now he who knows old Christmas, 

He knows a carle of worth; 
For he is as good a fellow 

As any upon earth. 

He comes warm cloaked and coated, 5 

And buttoned up to the chin, 
And soon as he comes a-nigh the door 

We open and let him in. 

We know that he will not fail us. 

So we sweep the hearth up clean; 10 

We set him in the old armchair, 

And a cushion whereon to lean. 

And with sprigs of holly and ivy 

We make the house look gay. 
Just out of an old regard to him, 15 

For it was his ancient way. 



THIRD YEAR — FOURTH MONTH 25 

He must be a rich old fellow : 

What money he gives away! 
There is not a lord in England 

Could equal him any day. 20 

Good luck unto old Christmas, 

And long life, let us sing, 
For he doth more good unto the poor 

Than many a crowned king! 

Mary Howitt 

THE LOST DOLL 

I ONCE had a sweet little doll, dears, 

The prettiest doll in the world; 
Her cheeks were so red and so white, dears. 

And her hair was so charmingly curled. 
But I lost my poor little doll, dears, 5 

As I played in the heath one day; 
And I cried for more than a week, dears; 

But I never could find where she lay. 

I found my poor little doll, dears. 

As I played in the heath one day; 10 

Folks say she is terribly changed, dears. 

For her paint is all washed away. 
And her arm trodden off by the cows, dears. 

And her hair not the least bit curled; 
Yet, for old sakes' sake, she is still, dears, 15 

The prettiest doll in the world. 

Charles Kingsley 



26 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 
FIFTH MONTH 

THE SEA 

The sea! the sea! the open sea! 

The blue, the fresh, the ever free ! 

Without a mark, without a bound. 

It runneth the earth's wide regions round; 

It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies; 5 

Or like a cradled creature lies. 

I 'm on the sea ! I 'm on the sea ! 

I am where I would ever be; 

With the blue above, and the blue below, 

And silence wheresoe'er I go; 10 

If a storm should come and awake the deep, 

What matter? I shall ride and sleep. 

I love, oh, how I love to ride 

On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide. 

When every mad wave drowns the moon, 15 

Or whistles aloft his tempest tune, 

And tells how goeth the world below, 

And why the sou'west blasts do blow. 

I never was on the dull, tame shore. 

But I loved the great sea more and more, 20 

And backward flew to her billowy breast. 

Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest; 

And a mother she was, and is, to me; 

For I was born on the open sea! 

The waves were white, and red the morn, 25 
In the noisy hour when I was born; 



THIRD YEAR — FIFTH MONTH 27 

And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled. 
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold; 
And never was heard such an outcry wild 
As welcomed to life the ocean-child! 30 

I 've lived since then, in calm and strife. 

Full fifty summers, a sailor's life, 

With wealth to spend, and power to range. 

But never have sought nor sighed for change; 

And Death, whenever he comes to me, 35 

Shall come on the wild, unbounded sea! 

Barry Cornwall 
{Bryan Waller Procter) 



AT SEA 

A WET sheet and a flowing sea, 

A wind that follows fast 
And fills the white and rustling sail 

And bends the gallant mast; 
And bends the gallant mast, my boys, 5 

While like the eagle free 
Away the good ship flies, and leaves 

Old England on the lee. 

Oh, for a soft and gentle wind! 

I heard a fair one cry; 10 

But give to me the snoring breeze 

And white waves heaving high; 
And white waves heaving high, my lads. 

The good ship tight and free : — 
The world of waters is our home, 15 

And merry men are we. 



POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

There's tempest in yon horned moon, 

And Ughtning in yon cloud; 
But hark the music, mariners ! 

The wind is piping loud; 20 

The wind is piping loud, my boys. 

The lightning flashes free, — 
While the hollow oak our palace is, 

Our heritage the sea. 

Allan Cunningham 



THE PELICAN CHORUS 

King and Queen of the Pelicans we; 
No other Birds so grand we see ! 
None but we have feet like fins ! 
With lovely leathery throats and chins ! 

Ploffskin, Pluffskin, Pelican jee! 5 

We think no Birds so happy as we! 

Plumpskin, Ploshkin, Pelican jill! 

We think so then, and we thought so still ! 

We live on the Nile. The Nile we love. 

By night we sleep on the cliffs above; 10 

By day we fish, and at eve we stand 

On long bare islands of yellow sand. 

And when the sun sinks slowly down, 

And the great rock walls grow dark and brown, 

Where the purple river rolls fast and dim 15 

And the Ivory Ibis starlike skim, 

Wing to wing we dance around. 

Stamping our feet with a flumpy sound, 

Opening our mouths as Pelicans ought; 

And this is the song we nightly snort, — 20 



THIRD YEAR — FIFTH MONTH 29 

Ploffskin, Fluff skin, Pelican jee! 

We think no Birds so happy as we ! 

Plumpskin, Ploshkin, Pelican jill! 

We think so then, and we thought so still ! 

Last year came out our Daughter Dell, 25 

And all the Birds received her well. 

To do her honor a feast we made 

For every bird that can swim or wade, — 

Herons and Gulls, and Cormorants black, 

Cranes, and Flamingoes with scarlet back, 30 

Plovers and Storks, and Geese in clouds, 

Swans and Dilberry Ducks in crowds : 

Thousands of Birds in wondrous flight! •' 

They ate and drank and danced all night. 

And echoing back from the rocks you heard 35 

Multitude-echoes from Bird and Bird, — 

Ploffskin, Pluffskin, Pelican jee! 

We think no Birds so happy as we ! 

Plumpskin, Ploshkin, Pelican jill! 

We think so then, and we thought so still ! 40 

Yes, they came; and among the rest 

The King of the Cranes all grandly dressed. 

Such a lovely tail ! Its feathers float 

Between the ends of his blue dress-coat; 

With pea-green trowsers all so neat, 45 

And a delicate frill to hide his feet 

(For though no one speaks of it, every one knows 

He has got no webs between his toes). 

As soon as he saw our Daughter Dell, 

In violent love that Crane King fell, — 50 



30 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

On seeing her waddling form so fair. 

With a wreath of shrimps in her short white hair. 

And before the end of the next long day 

Our Dell had given her heart away; 

For the King of the Cranes had won that heart 55 

With a Crocodile's egg and a large fish-tart. 

She vowed to marry the King of the Cranes, 

Leaving the Nile for stranger plains; 

And away they flew in a gathering crowd 

Of endless birds in a lengthening cloud. 60 

Ploffskin, Fluff skin, Pelican jee! 

We think no Birds so happy as we ! 

Plumpskin, Ploshkin, Pelican jill! 

We think so then, and we thought so still! 

And far away in the twilight sky 65 

We heard them singing a lessening cry, — 

Farther and farther, till out of sight, 

And we stood alone in the silent night! 

Often since, in the nights of June, 

We sit on the sand and watch the moon, — 70 

She has gone to the great Gromboolian Plain, 

And we probably never shall meet again ! 

Oft, in the long still nights of June, 

We sit on the rocks and watch the moon, — 

She dwells by the streams of the Chankly Bore. 75 

And we probably never shall see her more. 

Ploffskin, Pluffskin, Pelican jee! 

We think no Birds so happy as we ! 

Plumpskin, Ploshkin, Pelican jill! 79 

We think so then, and we thought so still ! 

Edward Lear 



THIRD YEAR — FIFTH MONTH 31 

THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER 

The sun was shining on the sea, 

Shining with all his might: 
He did his very best to make 

The billows smooth and bright — 
And this was odd, because it was 5 

The middle of the night. 

The moon was shining sulkily. 

Because she thought the sun 
Had got no business to be there 

After the day was done — 10 

"It's very rude of him," she said, 

"To come and spoil the fun!" 

The sea was wet as wet could be. 

The sands were dry as dry. 
You could not see a cloud, because 15 

No cloud was in the sky: 
No birds were flying overhead — 

There were no birds to fly. 

The Walrus and the Carpenter 

Were walking close at hand: 20 

They wept like anything to see 

Such quantities of sand: 
"If this were only cleared away," 

They said, " it would be grand ! " 

"If seven maids with seven mops 25 

Swept it for half a year. 



32 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Do you suppose," the Walrus said, 

"That they could get it clear?" 
"I doubt it," said the Carpenter, 

And shed a bitter tear. 30 

"O Oysters, come and walk with us!" 

The Walrus did beseech. 
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk. 

Along the briny beach: 
We cannot do with more than four, 35 

To give a hand to each." 

The eldest Oyster looked at him. 

But never a word he said: 
The eldest Oyster winked his eye. 

And shook his heavy head — 40 

Meaning to say he did not choose 

To leave the oyster-bed. 

But four young Oysters hurried up, 

All eager for the treat: 
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed, 45 

Their shoes were clean and neat — 
And this w*s odd, because, you know. 

They had n't any feet. 

Four other Oysters followed them, 

And yet another four; 60 

And thick and fast they came at last. 

And more, and more, and more — 
All hopping through the frothy waves, 

And scrambUng to the shore. 



t 



THIRD YEAR — FIFTH MONTH 33 

The Walrus and the Carpenter 55 

Walked on a mile or so. 
And then they rested on a rock 

Conveniently low: 
And all the little Oysters stood 

And waited in a row. 60 

"The time has come," the Walrus said, 

"To talk of many things: 
Of shoes — and ships — and sealing-wax — 

Of cabbages — and kings — 
And why the sea is boiling hot — 65 

And whether pigs have wings." 

"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried, 

"Before we have our chat; 
For some of us are out of breath. 

And all of us are fat ! " 70 

"No hurry!" said the Carpenter. 

They thanked him much for that. 

"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said, 

"Is what we chiefly need: 
Pepper and vinegar besides 75 

Are very good indeed — 
Now, if you 're ready, Oysters, dear. 

We can begin to feed." 

"But not on us!" the Oysters cried. 

Turning a little blue. 80 

"After such kindness, that would be 
A dismal thing to do!" 



34 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

"The night is fine," the Walrus said. 
"Do you admire the view? 

"It was so kind of you to come! 85 

And you are very nice!" 
The Carpenter said nothing but 

"Cut us another shce. 
I wish you were not quite so deaf — 

I 've had to ask you twice ! " 90 

"It seems a shame," the Walrus said, 

"To play them such a trick. 
After we 've brought them out so far. 

And made them trot so quick!" 
The Carpenter said nothing but 95 

"The butter's spread too thick!" 

"I weep for you," the Walrus said: 

"I deeply sympathize." 
With sobs and tears he sorted out 

Those of the largest size, 100 

Holding his pocket-handkerchief 

Before his streaming eyes. 

"O Oysters," said the Carpenter, 
" You 've had a pleasant run ! 

Shall we be trotting home again?" 105 

But answer came there none — 

And this was scarcely odd, because 
They'd eaten every one. 

Lewis Carroll 



THIRD YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 35 

SIXTH MONTH 

OUR FLAG 

Flag of the fearless-hearted, 

Flag of the broken chain, 
Flag in a day-dawn started. 

Never to pale or wane. 
Dearly we prize its colors, 5 

With the heaven light breaking through. 
The clustered stars and the steadfast bars. 

The red, the white, and the blue. 

Flag of the sturdy fathers, 

Flag of the royal sons, 10 

Beneath its folds it gathers 

Earth's best and noblest ones. 
Boldly we wave its colors. 

Our veins are thrilled anew 
By the steadfast bars, the clustered stars, 15 

The red, the white, and the blue. 

Margaret Sangster 

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER 

Oh, say ! can you see, by the dawn's early light. 
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last 
gleaming — 
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the 
perilous fight, 
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly 
streaming? 



36 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in 
air, 5 

Gave proof through the night that our flag was still 
there; 

Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave 

O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave? 

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, 
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence re- 
poses, 10 
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, 

As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? 
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, 
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream; 
'T is the star-spangled banner ! Oh, long may it wave 15 
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave ! 

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore 

That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion 
A home and a country should leave us no more? 
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' 
pollution. 20 

No refuge could save the hireling and slave 
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave; 
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave 
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave! 

Oh, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand 25 

Between their loves homes and the war's desolation ! 

Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n-rescued 

land 

Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a 

nation ! 



THIRD YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 37 

Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just. 
And this be our motto — "In God is our trust": 30 
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave 
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave. 

Francis Seott Key 



THE CHILDREN'S HOUR 

Between the dark and the daylight. 
When the night is beginning to lower. 

Comes a pause in the day's occupations, 
That is known as the Children's Hour. 

I hear in the chamber above me 5 

The patter of little feet, 
The sound of a door that is opened. 

And voices soft and sweet. 

From my study I see in the lamplight. 

Descending the broad hall stair, 10 

Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, 
And Edith with golden hair. 

A whisper, and then a silence: 

Yet I know by their merry eyes. 
They are plotting and planning together 15 

To take me by surprise. 

A sudden rush from the stairway, 

A sudden raid from the hall! 
By three doors left unguarded, 

They enter my castle wall! 20 



38 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

They climb up into my turret, 

O'er the arms and back of my chair; 

If I try to escape, they surround me; 
They seem to be everywhere. 

They almost devour me with kisses, 25 

Their arms about me entwine. 
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen 

In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine ! 

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, 

Because you have scaled the wall, 30 

Such an old moustache as I am 
Is not a match for you all? 

I have you fast in my fortress. 

And will not let you depart, 
But put you down into the dungeon 35 

In the round-tower of my heart. 

And there will I keep you forever. 

Yes, forever and a day, 
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, 

And moulder in dust away! 40 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

27-28. Near Bingen on the Rhine is a little square Mouse- 
Tower, so called from an old word meaning toll, since it was used 
as a toll-house; but there is an old tradition that a certain Bishop 
Hatto, who had been cruel to the people, was attacked in the tower 
by a great army of rats and mice. See Southey's famous poem. 
Bishop Hatto. 

29. Banditti, an Italian word for bands of robbers. 

31. An old moustache, a translation of the French phrase vieux 
moustache, which is used of a veteran soldier. 



THIRD YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 39 

THE RAGGEDY MAN ' 

O The Raggedy Man ! He works fer Pa; 
An' he 's the goodest man ever you saw ! 
He comes to our house every day, 
An' waters the horses, an' feeds 'em hay; 
An' he opens the shed — an' we all ist laugh 5 

When he drives out our little old wobble-ly calf; 
An' nen — ef our hired girl says he can — 
He milks the cow fer 'Lizabuth Ann. — 
Ain't he a' awful good Raggedy Man? 

Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! 10 

W'y, The Raggedy Man — he 's ist so good. 
He splits the kindlin' an' chops the wood; 
An' nen he spades in our garden, too, 
An' does most things 'at boys can't do. — 
He clumbed clean up in our big tree 15 

An' shooked a' apple down fer me — 
An' 'nother 'n', too, fer 'Lizabuth Ann — 
An' 'nother 'n', too, fer The Raggedy Man. — 
Ain't he a' awful kind Raggedy Man? 

Raggedy ! Raggedy ! Raggedy Man ! 20 

An' The Raggedy Man one time say he 
Pick' roast' rambos from a' orchurd-tree. 
An' et 'em — all ist roast' an' hot ! — 
An' it 's so, too ! — 'cause a corn-crib got 
Afire one time an' all burn' down 25 

On "The Smoot Farm," 'bout four mile from 
town — 

1 From the Biographical Edition of the Complete Worlds of James 
Wkitcomb Riley. Copyright, 1913. Used by special permission of 
the publishers. The Bobbs-Merrill Company. 



40 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

On " The Smoot Farm " ! Yes-an' the hired han' 
'At worked there nen 'uz The Raggedy Man ! — 
Ain't he the beatin'est Raggedy Man? 

Raggedy ! Raggedy ! Raggedy Man ! 30 

The Raggedy Man 's so good an' kind 

He'll be our "horsey," an' "haw" an' mind 

Ever'thing 'at you make him do — 

An' won't run off — 'less you want him to ! 

I drived him wunst way down our lane 35 

An' he got skeered, when it 'menced to rain. 

An' ist rared up an' squealed and run 

Purt' nigh away ! — an' it 's all in fun ! 

Nen he skeered ag'in at a' old tin can. . . . 

Whoa ! y ' old runaway Raggedy Man ! 40 

Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! 

An' The Raggedy Man, he knows most rhymes, 
An' tells 'em, ef I be good, sometimes: 
Knows 'bout Giunts, an' Griffuns, an' Elves, 
An' the Squidgicum-Squees 'at swallers the'r- 
selves ! 45 

An', wite by the pump in our pasture-lot. 
He showed me the hole 'at the Wunks is got, 
'At lives 'way deep in the ground, an' can 
Turn into me, er 'Lizabuth Ann ! 
ErMa, er Pa, er The Raggedy Man! 50 

Ain't he a funny old Raggedy Man? 

Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! 

An' wunst, when The Raggedy Man come late. 
An' pigs ist root' thue the garden-gate. 



THIRD YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 41 

He 'tend like the pigs 'uz bears an' said, 55 

"Old Bear-shooter '11 shoot 'em dead!" 
An' race' an' chase' 'em, an' they'd ist run 
When he pint his hoe at 'em like it's a gun 
An' go "Bang! — Bang!" nen 'tend he stan' 
An' loaduphisgunag'in! Raggedy Man! 60 

He 's an old Bear-shooter Raggedy Man ! 

Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! 

An' sometimes The Raggedy Man lets on 

We 're little pn'nce-children, an' old King 's gone 

To git more money, an' lef ' us there — 65 

And Robbers is ist thick ever' where; 

An' nen — ef we all won't cry, fer shore — 

The Raggedy Man he '11 come and " 'splore 

The Castul-halls," an' steal the "gold" — 

An' steal us, too, an' grab an' hold 70 

An' pack us off to his old " Cave " ! — An' 

Haymow's the "cave" o' The Raggedy Man! — 
Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! 

The Raggedy Man — one time, when he 
Wuz makin' a little bow-'n'-orry fer me, 75 

Says "When you're big like your Pa is. 
Air you go' to keep a fine store like his — 
An' be a rich merchunt — an' wear fine clothes? — 
Er what air you go' to be, goodness knows?" 
An' nen he laughed at 'Lizabuth Ann, 80 

An' I says "M go' to be a Raggedy Man! — 
I^m ist go' to be a nice Raggedy Man! " 

Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! 

James Whitcomb Riley. 



42 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 
SEVENTH MONTH 

THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE-TREE 

Come, let us plant the apple-tree. 
Cleave the tough greensward with the spade; 
Wide let its hollow bed be made; 
There gently lay the roots, and there 
Sift the dark mould with kindly care, 5 

And press it o'er them tenderly. 
As, round the sleeping infant's feet, 
We softly fold the cradle-sheet; 

So plant we the apple-tree. 

What plant we in this apple-tree? 10 

Buds, which the breath of summer days 
Shall lengthen into leafy sprays; 
Boughs where the thrush, with crimson breast, 
Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest; 

We plant, upon the sunny lea, 15 

A shadow for the noontide hour, 
A shelter from the summer shower, 

When we plant the apple-tree. 

What plant we in this apple-tree? 
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs 20 

To load the May-wind's restless wings. 
When, from the orchard-row, he pours 
Its fragrance through our open doors; 

A world of blossoms for the bee. 
Flowers for the sick girl's silent room, 25 

For the glad infant sprigs of bloom, 

We plant with the apple-tree. 



THIRD YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 43 

What plant we in this apple-tree? 
Fruits that shall swell in sunny June, 
And redden in the August noon, 30 

And drop, when gentle airs come by, 
That fan the blue September sky, 

While children come, with cries of glee. 
And seek them where the fragrant grass 
Betrays their bed to those who pass, 35 

At the foot of the apple-tree. 

And when, above this apple-tree. 
The winter stars are quivering bright, 
And winds go howling through the night. 
Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth, 40 
Shall peel its fruit by cottage-hearth. 

And guests in prouder homes shall see. 
Heaped with the grape of Cintra's vine 
And golden orange of the line, 

The fruit of the apple-tree. 45 

The fruitage of this apple-tree 
Winds and our flag of stripe and star 
Shall bear to coasts that lie afar. 
Where men shall wonder at the view. 
And ask in what fair groves they grew; 50 

And sojourners beyond the sea 
Shall think of childhood's careless day. 
And long, long hours of summer play, 

In the shade of the apple-tree. 

Each year shall give this apple-tree 55 

A broader flush of roseate bloom, 
A deeper maze of verdurous gloom. 



44 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

And loosen, when the frost-clouds lower. 
The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower. 

The years shall come and pass, but we 60 
Shall hear no longer, where we lie. 
The summer's songs, the autumn's sigh. 

In the boughs of the apple-tree. 

And time shall waste this apple-tree. 
Oh, when its aged branches throw 65 

Thin shadows on the ground below. 
Shall fraud and force and iron will 
Oppress the weak and helpless still .5^ 

What shall the tasks of mercy be, 
Amid the toils, the strifes, the tears 70 

Of those who live when length of years 

Is wasting this little apple-tree? 

"Who planted this old apple-tree?" 
The children of that distant day 
Thus to some aged man shall say; 75 

And, gazing on its mossy stem. 
The gray-haired man shall answer them: 

"A poet of the land was he, 
Born in the rude but good old times; 
'T is said he made some quaint old rhymes 80 

On planting the apple-tree." 

Willia7n Cullen Bryant 

73. In a letter to Dr. Orville Dewey, written from New York in 
November, 1846, Bryant writes: "I have been, and am, at my place 
on Long Island, planting and transplanting trees, in the mist, sixty 
or seventy; some for shade, most for fruit. Hereafter, men, whose 
existence is at present merely possible, will gather pears from the 
trees which I have set in the ground, and wonder what old covey, — 
for in those days the slang terms of the present time, by the ordinary 
process of change in languages, will have become classical, — ■ what 
old covey of past ages planted them?" The poem was wTitten in 
1849. but not published until 1864. 



THIRD YEAR— SEVENTH MONTH 45 

WISHING 

Ring-ting ! I wish I were a primrose, 

A bright yellow primrose, blowing in the spring! 

The stooping boughs above me. 

The wandering bee to love me, 
The fern and moss to creep across, 5 

And the elm tree for om- king! 

Nay — stay ! I wish I were an elm tree, 
A great, lofty elm tree, with green leaves gay! 
The winds would set them dancing. 
The sun and moonshine glance in, 10 

The birds would house among the boughs. 
And sweetly sing. 

Oh — no ! I wish I were a robin, 

A robin or a little wren, everywhere to go; 

Through forest, field, or garden, 15 

And ask no leave or pardon. 
Till winter comes with icy thumbs 

To rujffle up our wing ! 

Well — tell! Where should I fly to. 

Where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell? 20 

Before a day was over. 

Home comes the rover. 
For mother's kiss — sweeter this 

Than any other thing. 

William Allingham 



46 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

THE NINE LITTLE GOBLINS ^ 

They all climbed upon a high-board fence — 
Nine little goblins, with green-glass eyes — 
Nine little goblins that had no sense, 

And could n't tell coppers from cold mince pies; 
And they all climbed up on the fence, and sat — 5 
And I asked them what they were staring at. 

And the first one said, as he scratched his head 

With a queer little arm that reached out of his ear 
And rasped its claws in his hair so red — 

"This is what this little arm is for!" 10 

And he scratched and stared, and the next one 

said, 
"How on earth do you scratch your head?" 

And he laughed like the screech of a rusty hinge — 

Laughed and laughed till his face grew black; 
And when he choked, with a final twinge 15 

Of his stifling laughter, he thumped his back 
With a fist that grew on the end of his tail 
Till the breath came back to his lips so pale. 

And the third little goblin leered round at me — 

And there were no lids on his eyes at all — 20 

And he clucked one eye, and he says, says he, 
"What is the style of your socks this Fall?" 
And he clapped his heels — and I sighed to see 
That he had hands where his feet should be. 

^ From the Biographical Edition of the Complete Works of James 
Whitcomb Riley. Copyright, 1913. Used by permission of the 
pubhshers. The Bobbs-Merrill Company. 



THIRD YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 47 

Then a bald-faced goblin, gray and grim, 25 

Bowed his head, and I saw him slip 
His eyebrows off, as I looked at him, 
And paste them over his upper lip; 

And then he moaned in remorseful pain. — 
"Would — Ah, would I'd me brows again!" 30 

And then the whole of the goblin band 
Rocked on the fence-top to and fro, 
And clung, in a long row, hand in hand, 

Singing the songs that they used to know — 

Singing the songs that their grandsires sung 35 
In the goo-goo days of the goblin tongue. 

And ever they kept their green-glass eyes 

Fixed on me with a stony stare — 
Till my own grew glazed with a dread surmise, 

And my hat whooped up on my lifted hair, 40 

And I felt the heart in my breast snap to, 
As you've heard the lid of a snuff-box do. 

And they sang "You're asleep! There is no board 
fence. 
And never a goblin with green-glass eyes ! — 
'T is only a vision the mind invents 45 

After a supper of cold mince pies. 

And you're doomed to dream this way," they 

said, — 
"And you shant wake up till youWe clean plum 
dead!" 

James Whitcomh Riley 



48 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

BEFORE THE RAIN 

We knew it would rain, for all the morn 

A spirit on slender ropes of mist 
Was lowering its golden buckets down 

Into the vapory amethyst 

Of marshes and swamps and dismal fens — 5 
Scooping the dew that lay in the flowers. 

Dipping the jewels out of the sea. 

To scatter them over the land in showers. 

We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed 
The white of their leaves, the amber grain 10 

Shrunk in the wind — and the lightning now 
Is tangled in tremulous skeins of rain! 

Thomas Bailey Aldrich 

THE GRASS 

The grass so little has to do, — 

A sphere of simple green. 
With only butterflies to brood, 

And bees to entertain, 

And stir all day to pretty tunes 5 

The breezes fetch along. 
And hold the sunshine in its lap 

And bow to everything; 

And thread the dews all night, like pearls. 
And make itself so fine, — . 10 



THIRD YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 49 

A duchess were too common 
For such a noticing. 

And even when it dies, to pass 

In odors so divine, 
As lowly spices gone to sleep, 15 

Or amulets of pine. 

And then to dwell in sovereign barns, 
And dream the days away, — 

The grass so little has to do, 

I wish I were the hay ! 20 

Emily Dickinson 

DANDELIONS 

Upon a showery night and still. 

Without a sound of warning, 
A trooper band surprised the hill. 

And held it in the morning. 
We were not waked by bugle notes, 5 

No cheer our dreams invaded. 
And yet, at dawn their yellow coats 

On the green slopes paraded. 

We careless folk the deed forgot; 

'Til one day, idly walking, 10 

We marked upon the self-same spot 

A crowd of vet'rans talking. 
They shook their trembling heads and gray 

With pride and noiseless laughter; 
When, well-a-day! they blew away, 15 

And ne'er were heard of after ! 

Helen Gray Cone 



50 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 
EIGHTH MONTH 

THE BROOK 

I COME from haunts of coot and hem, 

I make a sudden sally, 
And sparkle out among the fern. 

To bicker down a valley. 

By thirty hills I hurry down, 5 

Or slip between the ridges, 
By twenty thorps, a little town, 

And half a hundred bridges. 

Till last by Philip's farm I flow 

To join the brimming river; 10 

For men may come, and men may go, 
But I go on forever. 

I chatter over stony ways, 

In little sharps and trebles; 
I bubble into eddying bays; 15 

I babble on the pebbles. 

With many a curve my bank I fret 

By many a field and fallow. 
And many a fairy foreland set 

With willow-weed and mallow. 20 

I chatter, chatter, as I flow 

To join the brimming river; 
For men may come, and men may go. 

But I go on forever. 



THIRD YEAR — EIGHTH MONTH 51 

I wind about, and in and out, 25 

With here a blossom sailing, 
And here and there a lusty trout, 

And here and there a grayling, 

And here and there a foamy flake 

Upon me as I travel, 30 

With many a silvery waterbreak 
Above the golden gravel, 

And draw them all along and flow 

To join the brimming river, 
For men may come, and men may go, 35 

But I go on forever. 

I steal by lawns and grassy plots, 

I slide by hazel covers, 
I move the sweet forget-me-nots 

That grow for happy lovers. 40 

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance. 

Among my skimming swallows; 
I make the netted sui^beam dance 

Against my sandy shallows. 

I murmur under moon and stars 45 

In brambly wildernesses ; 
I linger by my shingly bars; 

I loiter round my cresses; 

And out again I curve and flow 

To join the brimming river, 50 

For men may come, and men may go. 

But I go on forever. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 



52 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

THE BLUEBIRD 1 

I KNOW the song that the bluebird is singing. 
Out in the apple-tree where he is swinging. 
Brave little fellow! the skies may be dreary. 
Nothing cares he while his heart is so cheery. 

Hark ! how the music leaps out from his throat ! 5 
Hark! was there ever so nierry a note? 
Listen awhile, and you '11 hear what he 's saying. 
Up in the apple-tree, swinging and swaying: 

"Dear little blossoms, down under the snow, 
You must be weary of winter, I know; 10 

Hark! while I sing you a message of cheer. 
Summer is coming, and spring-time is here! 

"Little white snowdrops, I pray you, arise; 
Bright yellow crocus, come, open your eyes; 
Sweet little violets hid from the cold, 15 

Put on your mantles of purple and gold: 
Daffodils, daffodils! say, do you hear? 
Summer is coming, and spring-time is here!" 

Emily Huntington Miller 

SPRING 

The alder by the river 

Shakes out her powdery curls; , 

The willow buds in silver 
For little boys and girls. 

The little birds fly over 5 

And oh, how sweet they sing! 
1 By permission of E. P. Dutton & Co. 



THIRD YEAR — EIGHTH MONTH 53 

To tell the happy children 
That once agam 't is spring. 

The gay green grass comes creeping 

So soft beneath their feet; 10 

The frogs begin to ripple 
A music clear and sweet. 

And buttercups are coming. 

And scarlet columbine, 
And in the sunny meadows 15 

The dandelions shine. 

And just as many daisies 

As their soft hands can hold 
The little ones may gather, 

All fair in white and gold. 20 

Here blows the warm red clover, 

There peeps the violet blue; 
O happy little children! 

God made them all for you. 

Celia Tkaxter 



A BOY'S SONG 

Where the pools are bright and deep. 
Where the gray trout lies asleep. 
Up the river, and o'er the lea, 
That's the way for Billy and me. 

Where the blackbird sings the latest, 
Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest. 



54 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Where the nesthngs chirp and flee. 
That's the way for Billy and me. 

Where the mowers mow the cleanest, 
Where the hay lies thick and greenest; 10 
There to trace the homeward bee. 
That 's the way for Billy and me. 

Where the hazel bank is steepest, 
Where the shadow falls the deepest. 
Where the clustering nuts fall free, 15 

That's the way for Billy and me. 

Why the boys should drive away 

Little sweet maidens from the play, 

Or love to banter and fight so well. 

That's the thing I never could tell. 20 

But this I know, I love to play. 
Through the meadow, among the hay; 
Up the water and o'er the lea, 
That 's the way for Billy and me. 

James Hogg 



FOURTH YEAR 
FIRST MONTH 

BALLAD OF THE TEMPEST 

We were crowded in the cabin. 
Not a soul would dare to sleep — 

It was midnight on the waters. 
And a storm was on the deep. 



FOURTH YEAR — FIRST MONTH 55 

'T is a fearful thing in winter 6 

To be shattered by the blast, 
And to hear the rattling trumpet 

Thunder, "Cut away the mast!" 

So we shuddered there in silence, — 

For the stoutest held his breath, 10 

While the hungry sea was roaring, 
And the breakers talked with Death. 

As thus we sat in darkness, 

Each one busy with his prayers, — 

"We are lost!" the captain shouted, 15 

As he staggered down the stairs. 

But his little daughter whispered, 

As she took his icy hand, 
" Is not God upon the ocean. 

Just the same as on the land?" 20 

Then we kissed the little maiden. 

And we spoke in better cheer. 
And we anchored safe in harb.or 

When the moon was shining clear. 

James T. Fields 



ROMANCE 

I SAW a ship a-sailing, 

A-sailing on the sea; 
Her masts were of the shining gold, 

Her deck of ivory; 



56 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

And sails of silk, as soft as milk, 
And silvern shrouds had she. 



And round about her sailing. 

The sea was sparkling white. 
The waves all clapped their hands and sang 

To see so fair a sight. 10 

They kissed her twice, they kissed her thrice; 

And murmured with delight. 

Then came the gallant captain, 

And stood upon the deck; 
In velvet coat, and ruffles white, 15 

Without a spot or speck; 
And diamond rings, and triple strings 

Of pearls around his neck. 

And four-and-twenty sailors 

Were round him bowing low; 20 

On every jacket three times three 

Gold buttons in a row; 
And cutlasses down to their knees; 

They made a goodly show. 

And then the ship went sailing, 25 

A-sailing o'er the sea; 
She dived beyond the setting sun. 

But never back came she. 
For she found the lands of the golden sands. 

Where the pearls and diamonds be. 30 

Gabriel Setoun 



FOURTH YEAR — FIRST MONTH 57 

THE SPIDER AND THE FLY 

"Will you walk into my parlor?" 

Said a spider to a fly; 
" 'T is the prettiest little parlor 

That ever you did spy. 
The way into my parlor 5 

Is up a winding stair, 
And I have many pretty things 

To show when you are there." 
"Oh no, no!" said the little fly, 

"To ask me is in vain; 10 

For who goes up your winding stair. 

Can ne'er come down again." 

"I'm sure you must be weary 

With soaring up so high; 
Will you rest upon my little bed?" 15 

Said the spider to the fly. 
"There are pretty curtains drawn around, 

The sheets are fine and thin; 
And if you like to rest awhile, 

I'll snugly tuck you in." 20 

"Oh no, no!" said the little fly, 

" For I 've often heard it said, 
They never, never wake again. 

Who sleep upon your bed." 

Said the cunning spider to the fly, 25 

"Dear friend, what shall I do, 
To prove the warm affection 

I've always felt for you? 



58 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

I have, within my pantry. 

Good store of all that's nice; 30 

I 'm sure you 're very welcome — 

Will you please to take a slice?" 
"Oh no, no!" said the little fly, 

"Kind sir, that cannot be; 
I've heard what's in your pantry, 35 

And I do not wish to see." 

"Sweet creature," said the spider, 

"You're witty and you're wise; 
How handsome are your gauzy wings, 

How brilliant are your eyes. 40 

I have a little looking-glass 

Upon my parlor shelf; 
If you '11 step in one moment, dear, 

You shall behold yourself." 
"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, 45 

"For what you're pleased to say, 
And bidding you good-morning, now, 

I'll call another day." 

The spider turned him round about, 

And went into his den, 50 

For well he knew the silly fly 

Would soon be back again; 
So he wove a subtle thread 

In a little corner sly. 
And set his table ready 55 

To dine upon the fly. 

He went out to his door again, 
And merrily did sing, 



FOURTH YEAR — FIRST MONTH 59 

"Come hither, hither, pretty jfly. 

With the pearl and silver wing; 60 

Your robes are green and purple, 

There's a crest upon your head; 
Your eyes are like the diamond bright. 

But mine are dull as lead." 

Alas, alas! how very soon 65 

This silly little fly, 
Hearing his wily, flattering words. 

Came slowly flitting by: 
With buzzing wings she hung aloft. 

Then near and nearer drew — 70 

Thought only of her brilliant eyes. 

And green and purple hue; 
Thought only of her crested head, — 

Poor foolish thing! At last 
Up jumped the cunning spider, 75 

And fiercely held her fast. 

He dragged her up his winding stair, 

Into his dismal den 
Within his little parlor — but 

She ne'er came out again! 80 

And now, dear little children 

Who may this story read. 
To idle, silly, flattering words, 

I pray you, ne'er give heed; 
Unto an evil counsellor 85 

Close heart and ear and eye. 
And learn a lesson from this tale 

Of the spider and the fly. 

Mary Howitt 



60 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 
SECOND MONTH 

ROBIN REDBREAST 

Good-bye, good-bye to summer! 

For summer's nearly done; 
The garden smiling faintly, 

Cool breezes in the sun; 
Our thrushes now are silent, 5 

Our swallows flown away, — 
But Robin 's here, in coat of brown, 

And scarlet breast-knot gay. 
Robin, Robin Redbreast, 

O Robin dear! , 10 

Robin sings so sweetly 

In the falling of the year. 

Bright yellow, red, and orange, 

The leaves come down in hosts; 
The trees are Indian princes, 15 

But soon they'll turn to ghosts; 
The scanty pears and apples 

Hang russet on the bough; 
It's autumn, autumn, autumn late, 

'T will soon be winter now. 20 

Robin, Robin Redbreast, 

O Robin dear! 
And what will this poor Robin do? 

For pinching days are near. 

The fire-side for the cricket, 25 

The wheat-stack for the mouse, 

When trembling night-winds whistle 
And moan all round the house. 



FOURTH YEAR — SECOND MONTH 61 

The frosty ways like iron, 

The branches plumed with snow, — 30 
Alas! in winter dead and dark, 

Where can poor Robin go? 
Robin, Robin Redbreast, 

O Robin dear! 
And a crumb of bread for Robin, 35 

His little heart to cheer. 

William Allingham 

THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SQUIRREL 

The mountain and the squirrel 

Had a quarrel. 

And the former called the latter "Little prig"; 

Bun replied, 

"You are doubtless very big, 5 

But all sorts of things and weather 

Must be taken in together 

To make up a year. 

And a sphere: 

And I think it no disgrace 10 

To occupy my place. 

If I 'm not so large as you. 

You are not so small as I, 

And not half so spry; 

I '11 not deny you make 15 

A very pretty squirrel track. 

"Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; 
If I cannot carry forests ©n my back, 
Neither can you crack a nut." 

Ralph Waldo Emerson 



62 poe:m5 for the study of language 
the story of the wood ^ 

What said the Wood in the fire 

To the httle boy that night — 
The Uttle boy of the golden hair, 
As he rocked himself in his httle armchair — 

^^^len the blaze was burning bright? 5 

The Wood said: "See 

WTiat they've done to me I 
I stood in the forest, a beautiful tree. 
And waved my branches from east to west. 
And many a sweet bird built its nest 10 

In my leaves of green 

That loved to lean 
In springtime over the daisies' breast ! 

"From the blossoming dells 

Where the ^^olet dwells 15 

The cattle came with their clanking bells 
And rested under my shadows sweet; 
And the A;\-inds that went over the clover and wheat 

Told me all that they knew 

Of the flowers that grew 20 

In the beautiful shadows that dreamed at my feet. 

"And the wild wind's caresses 

Oft rumpled my tresses; 
But sometimes, as soft as a mother's lip presses 
On the brow of the child of her bosom, it laid 25 

^ From LitiJe Folks Down South. By permission of D. Appleton 
and Company. 



FOl'ETH YEAR — SECOND MONTH 63 

Its lips on my leaves, and I was not afraid. 

And I listened and heard 

The small heart of each bird 
As it beat in the warm nest that mother had made I 



"And in sprinsrtime sweet faces 30 

Of m\'riad graces 
Came beaming and gleaming from flowery places; 
And under my grateful and joy-gi^^ng shade. 
With cheeks like primroses the Uttle ones played; 

And the sunshine in showers 35 

Through all the bright hours 
Bound their beauteous ringlets with silveiy braid. 

"And the lightning came brightening 

From far skies, and frightening 
The wandering birds that were tossed by the breeze 40 
And tilted like ships on black, billowy seas. 
But they flew to my breast. 
And I rocked them to rest. 
While the trembling \"ines clustered and clung at my 
knees I 

"But how soon," said the Wood, 45 

"Fades the memory of good I 
Though with sheltering love and sweet kindness I 

stood. 
The forester came with his ax gleaming bright. 
And I fell like a giant, all shorn of his might I 

Yet still there must be 50 

Some sweet mission for me; 
For have I not warmed vou and cheered vou to-night ? " 



64 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

So said the Wood in the fire 

To the httle boy that night — 
The httle boy of the golden hair, 55 

As he rocked himself in his little armchair — 

When the blaze was burning bright. 

Frank L. Stanton 



THIRD MONTH 

A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF GOD 

They say that God lives very high! 

But if you look above the pines 
You cannot see our God. And why? 

And if you dig down in the mines 

You never see Him in the gold, 6 

Though from Him all that 's glory shines. 

God is so good, He wears a fold 

Of heaven and earth across His face — 
Like secrets kept, for love, untold. 

But still I feel that His embrace 10 

Slides down by thrills, through all things made 
Through sight and sound of every place: 

As if my tender mother laid 

On my shut lids, her kisses' pressure, 
Half -waking me at night; and said 15 

"Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser?" 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning 



FOURTH YEAR — THIRD MONTH 65 

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 

The suggestion of the poem came from the smithy which the poet 
passed daily, and which stood beneath a horse-chestnut tree not far 
from his house in Cambridge. The tree, against the protests of Mr. 
Longfellow and others, was removed in 1876, on the ground that it 
imperilled drivers of heavy loads who passed under it. 

Under a spreading chestnut-tree 

The village smithy stands; 
The smith, a mighty man is he. 

With large and sinewy hands; 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 5 

Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp, and black, and long, 

His face is like the tan; 
His brow is wet with honest sweat. 

He earns whate'er he can, 10 

And looks the whole world in the face, 

For he owes not any man. 

Week in, week out, from morn till night. 

You can hear his bellows blow; 
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, 15 

With measured beat and slow. 
Like a sexton ringing the village bell. 

When the evening sun is low. 

And children coming home from school 

Look in at the open door; 20 

They love to see the flaming forge, 
And hear the bellows roar. 



66 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

And catch the burning sparks that fly 
Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church, 25 

And sits among his boys; 
He hears the parson pray and preach, 

He hears his daughter's voice. 
Singing in the viUage choir. 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 30 

It sounds to him hke her mother's voice. 

Singing in Paradise ! 
He needs must think of her once more, 

How in the grave she hes; 
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 35 

A tear out of his eyes. 

Toihng, — rejoicing, — sorrowing. 

Onward through life he goes; 
Each morning sees some task begin. 

Each evening sees it close, 40 

Something attempted, something done, 

Has earned a night's repose. 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend. 
For the lesson thou hast taught! 

Thus at the flaming forge of life 45 

Our fortunes must be wrought; 

Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 
Each burning deed and thought. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

23. After this poem had been printed for some time, Mr. Long- 
fellow was disposed to change the word "catch" to "watch," but 
the original form had grown so familiar that he decided to leave it. 



FOURTH YEAR — THIRD MONTH 67 

TO MOTHER FAIRIE 

Good old mother Fairie, 

Sitting by your fire, 
Have you any little folk 

You would like to hire? 

I want no chubby drudges 5 

To milk, and churn, and spin. 

Nor old and wrinkled Brownies, 
With grisly beards, and thin: 

But patient little people. 
With hands of busy care, 10 

And gentle speech, and loving hearts; 
Say, have you such to spare? 

I know a poor, pale body, 

Who cannot sleep at night. 
And I want the little people 15 

To keep her chamber bright. 

To chase away the shadows 
That make her moan and weep, 

To sing her loving lullabies. 

And kiss her eyes asleep; 20 

And when in dreams she reaches 

For pleasures dead and gone. 
To hold her wasted fingers, 

And make the rings stay on. 

They must be very cunning 25 

To make the future shine 



68 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Like leaves, and flow'rs, and strawberries, 
A-growing on one vine; 

So good old mother Fairie, 

Since now my need you know, 30 

Tell me, have you any folk, 

Who are wise enough to go? 

Alice Cary 



FOURTH MONTH 
LITTLE GOTTLIEB 

A CHRISTMAS STORY 

Across the German Ocean, 

In a country far from our own. 
Once, a poor little boy, named Gottlieb, 

Lived with his mother alone. 

They dwelt in the part of a village 5 

Where the houses were poor and small, 

But the home of little Gottlieb 
Was the poorest one of all. 

He was not large enough to work. 

And his mother could do no more 10 

(Though she scarcely laid her knitting down) 

Than keep the wolf from the door. 

She had to take their threadbare clothes. 

And turn, and patch, and darn; 
For never any women yet 15 

Grew rich by knitting yarn. 



FOURTH YEAR — FOURTH MONTH 69 

And oft at night, beside her chair, 

Would GottUeb sit, and plan 
The wonderful things he would do for her. 

When he grew to be a man. 20 

One night she sat and knitted, 
And Gottlieb sat and dreamed. 

When a happy fancy all at once 
Upon his vision beamed. 

'T was only a week till Christmas, 25 

And Gottlieb knew that then 
The Christ-child, who was born that day. 

Sent down good gifts to men. 

But he said, " He will never find us, 

Our home is so mean and small, 30 

And we, who have most need of them. 
Will get no gifts at all." 

When all at once a happy light 

Came into his eyes so blue. 
And lighted up his face with smiles, 35 

As he thought what he could do. 

Next day when the postman's letters 

Came from all over the land; 
Came one for the Christ-child, written 

In a child's poor trembling hand. 40 

You may think he was sorely puzzled 

What in the world to do; 
So he went to the Burgomaster, 

As the wisest man he knew. 



70 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

And when they opened the letter, 45 

They stood almost dismayed 
That such a little child should dare 

To ask the Lord for aid. 

Then the Burgomaster stammered, 

And scarce knew what to speak, 50 

And hastily he brushed aside 

A drop, like a tear, from his cheek. 

Then up he spoke right gruffly. 
And he turned liimseK about: 

"This must be a very foolish boy, 55 

And a small one, too, no doubt." 

But when six rosy children 
That night about him pressed, 

Poor, trusting little Gottlieb 

Stood near him, with the rest. 60 

And he heard his simple, touching prayer, 
Through all their noisy play; 

Though he tried his very best to put 
The thought of him away. 

A wise and learned man was he, 65 

Men called him good and just; 

But his wisdom seemed like foolishness, 
By that weak child's simple trust. 

Now when the morn of Christmas came. 
And the long, long week was done, 70 

Poor Gottlieb, who scarce could sleep. 
Rose up before the sun. 



FOURTH YEAR — FOURTH MONTH 71 

And hastened to his mother. 

But he scarce might speak for fear, 

When he saw her wondering look, and saw 75 
The Burgomaster near. 

He was n't afraid of the Holy Babe, 

Nor his mother, meek and mild; 
But he felt as if so great a man 

Had never been a child. 80 

Amazed the poor child looked, to find 
The hearth was piled with wood. 

And the table, never full before, 
Was heaped with dainty food. 

Then half to hide from himself the truth 85 

The Burgomaster said, 
While the mother blessed him on her knees, 

And Gottlieb shook for dread; 

" Nay, give no thanks, my good dame, 
To such as me for aid, 90 

Be grateful to your little son, 

And the Lord to whom he prayed!" 

Then turning round to Gottlieb, 

"Your written prayer, you see. 
Came not to whom it was addressed, 95 

It only came to me! 

** 'T was but a foolish thing you did. 

As you must understand; 
For though the gifts are yours, you know. 

You have them from my hand." 100 



72 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Then Gottlieb answered fearlessly, 

Where he humbly stood apart, 
"But the Christ-child sent them all the same. 

He put the thought in your heart!" 

Phoebe Cary 

THE SPARROWS 

In the far-off land of Norway, 

Where the winter lingers late, 

And long for the singing-birds and flowers 
The little children wait; 

When at last the summer ripens 5 

And the harvest is gathered in. 

And food for the bleak, drear days to come 
The toiling people win; 

Through all the land the children 

In the golden fields remain 10 

Till their busy little hands have gleaned 
A generous sheaf of grain; 

All the stalks by the reapers forgotten 
They glean to the very least. 

To save till the cold December, 15 

For the sparrows' Christmas feast. 

And then through the frost-locked country 
There happens a wonderful thing: 

The sparrows flock north, south, east, west. 
For the children's offering. 20 



FOURTH YEAR — FOURTH MONTH 73 

Of a sudden, the day before Christmas, 

The twittering crowds arrive. 
And the bitter, wintry air at once 

With their chirping is all alive. 

They perch upon roof and gable, 25 

On porch and fence and tree, 
They flutter about the windows 

And peer in curiously. 

And meet the eyes of the children. 

Who eagerly look out 30 

With cheeks that bloom like roses red, 

And greet them with welcoming shout. 

On the joyous Christmas morning. 

In front of every door 
A tall pole, crowned with clustering grain, 35 

Is set the birds before. 

And which are the happiest, truly 

It would be hard to tell; 
The sparrows who share in the Christmas cheer, 

Or the children who love them well! 40 

How sweet that they should remember. 

With faith so full and sure. 
That the children's bounty awaited them 

The whole wide country o'er! 

When this pretty story was told me 45 

By one who had helped to rear 
The rustling grain for the merry birds 

In Norway, many a year. 



74 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

I thought that our Httle children 

Would like to know it too, 50 

It seems to me so beautiful, 
So blessed a thing to do, 

To make God's innocent creatures see 

In every child a friend. 
And on our faithful kindness 55 

So fearlessly depend. 

Celia Thaxter 

WHILE SHEPHERDS WATCHED THEIR 
FLOCKS BY NIGHT 

While shepherds watched their flocks by night, 

All seated on the ground. 
The angel of the Lord came down, 
And glory shone around. 
"Fear not," said he, for mighty dread 5 

Had seized their troubled mind; 
"Glad tidings of great joy I bring 
To you and all mankind. 

"To you, in David's town, this day, 

Is born of David's line 10 

A Saviour, who is Christ the Lord, 

And this shall be his sign: 
The heavenly babe you there shall find 

To human view displayed. 
All meanly wrapped in swaddling bands, 15 

And in a manger laid." 

Thus spake the seraph; and forthwith 
Appeared a shining throng 



FOURTH YEAR — FIFTH MONTH 75 

Of angels, praising God, who thus 

Addressed their joyful song: 20 

*A11 glory be to God on high. 
And to the earth be peace; 
Good-will henceforth from heaven to men 
Begin and never cease." 

Nahum Tate 



FIFTH MONTH 
SIR PATRICK SPENS 

AN OLD BALLAD 

The king sits in Dunfermline toun. 
Drinking the blude-red wine : 
"Oh, whare will I get a skeely skipper 
To sail this new ship of mine?" 

Oh, up and spake an eldern knight, 5 

Sat at the king's right knee, 
"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor 
That ever sailed the sea." 

Our king has written a braid letter, 

And sealed it with his hand, 10 

And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, 
Was walking on the strand. 

"To Noroway, to Noroway, 
To Noroway o'er the faem; 
The king's daughter of Noroway, 15 

'T is thou maun bring her hame." 



76 POEMS FOR THE STtJDY OF LANGUAGE 

The first word that Sir Patrick read, 

Sae loud, loud laughed he; 
The neist word that Sir Patrick read. 

The tear blinded his e'e. 20 

"Oh wha is this has done this deed. 
And tauld the king o' me. 
To send us out, at this time of the year, 
To sail upon the sea?" 

"Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, 25 
Our ship must sail the faem; 
The King's daughter of Noroway, 
'T is we must fetch her hame." 

They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn, 
Wi' a' the speed they may; 30 

And they hae landed in Noroway 
Upon a Wedensday. 

They hadna been a week, a week 

In Noroway but twae. 
When that the lords o' Noroway 35 

Began aloud to say: 

"Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's gowd, 

And a' our queenis fee." 
"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud! 

Fu' loud I hear ye lie ! 40 

" For I hae brought as much white monie 
As gane my men and me. 
And I hae brought a half-fou' o' gude red gowd 
Out o'er the sea wi' me. 



FOURTH YEAR — FIFTH MONTH 77 

"Make ready, make ready, my merry men a'! 45 

Our gude ship sails the morn." 
"Now ever alake, my master dear, 

I fear a deadly storm ! 

*' I saw the new moon, late yestreen, 

Wi' the auld moon in her arm; 50 

And if we gang to sea, master, 
I fear we'll come to harm." 

They hadna sailed a league, a league, 

A league but barely three. 
When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, 

And gurly grew the sea. 66 

The ankers brak, and the top-masts lap, 

It was sic a deadly storm; 
And the waves cam' o'er the broken ship 

Till a' her sides were torn. 60 

"Oh, where will I get a gude sailor. 
To take my helm in hand. 
Till I get up to the tall top-mast, 
To see if I can spy land? " 

"Oh here am I, a sailor gude, 65 

To take the helm in hand, 
Till ye get up to the tall top-mast: 
But I fear you'll ne'er spy land." 

He hadna gane a step, a step, 

A step but barely ane, 70 

When a bout flew out of our goodly ship. 

And the sale sea it came in. 



78 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

" Gae, fetch a web o' the silken claith, 
Another o' the twine. 
And wap them into our ship's side, 75 

And letna the sea came in." 

Oh, laith, laith were our gude Scots lords 
To wet their cork heeled shoon ! 

But lang ere a' the play was played 

They wat their hats aboon. 80 

And mony was the feather-bed 

That floated on the faem, 
And mony was the gude lord's son 

That never niair came hame. 

The ladyes wrang their fingers white, 85 

The maidens tore their hair; 
A' for the sake of their true loves. 

For them they'll see na mair. 

Oh, lang, lang may the ladyes sit, 

Wi' their fans into their hand, 90 

Before they see Sir Patrick Spens 
Come sailing to the strand. 

And lang, lang may the maidens sit, 
Wi' the goud kaims in their hair, 

A' waiting for their ain dear loves, 95 

For them they '11 see na mair. 

Oh, forty miles off Aberdour, 

'T is fifty fathoms deep. 
And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, 

Wi' the Scots lords at his feet. 100 



FOURTH YEAR — FIFTH MONTH 79 

THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S-NEST 

Once the Emperor Charles of Spain, 

With his swarthy, grave commanders, 
^I forget in what campaign, 

Long besieged, in mud and rain. 

Some old frontier town of Flanders. 5 

Up and down the dreary camp. 

In great boots of Spanish leather, 
Striding with a measured tramp, 
These Hidalgos, dull and damp. 

Cursed the Frenchmen, cursed the weather. 10 

Thus as to and fro they went, 

Over upland and through hollow, 
Giving their impatience vent, 
Perched upon the Emperor's tent. 

In her nest, they spied a swallow. 15 

Yes, it was a swallow's nest. 

Built of clay and hair of horses. 
Mane, or tail, or dragoon's crest, 
Found on hedge-rows east and west. 

After skirmish of the forces. 20 

Then an old Hidalgo said. 

As he twirled his gray mustachio, 
"Sure this swallow overhead 
Thinks the Emperor's tent a shed. 

And the Emperor but a Macho ! " 25 

25. Macho. Pronounced Macho. It signifies in Spanish a mule. 



80 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Hearing his imperial name 

Coupled with those words of malice, 
Half in anger, half in shame, 
Forth the great campaigner came 
Slowly from his canvas palace. 30 

"Let no hand the bird molest," 
Said he solemnly, "nor hurt her!" 

Adding then, by way of jest, 

" Golondrina is my guest, 

'T is the wife of some deserter!" 35 

Swift as bowstring speeds a shaft. 

Through the camp was spread the rumor. 

And the soldiers, as they quaffed 

Flemish beer at dinner, laughed 

At the Emperor's pleasant humor. 40 

So unharmed and unafraid 

Sat the swallow still and brooded. 
Till the constant cannonade 
Through the walls a breach had made. 

And the siege was thus concluded. 45 

Then the army, elsewhere bent. 
Struck its tents as if disbanding, 

Only not the Emperor!s tent, 

For he ordered, ere he went. 

Very curtly, "Leave it standing!" 50 

34. Golondrina, the feminine form of golondrino, a swallow, and 
also a jocose name for a deserter. 



FOURTH YEAR — FIFTH MONTH 81 

So it stood there all alone, 

Loosely flapping, torn and tattered. 

Till the brood was fledged and flown 

Singing o'er those walls of stone 

Which the cannon-shot had shattered. 55 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

THE SNOWSTORM 

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky. 
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields. 
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air 
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven. 
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end. 5 

The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet 
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit 
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed 
In a tumultuous privacy of storm. 

Come see the north wind's masonry. 10 

Out of an unseen quarry evermore 

Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer 

Curves his white bastions with projected roof 

Round every windward stake, or tree, or door. 

Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work 15 

So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he 

For number or proportion. Mockingly, 

On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths; 

A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn; 

Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall, 20 

Maugre the farmer's sighs; and at the gate 

1. What conspicuous change in meter do you observe? 
18. Cf. Parian marble, — why so called? 

21. Why not "despite," or some other English word? See 
Friendship, n, 183. Journal, November 27, 1832, C, ix, 419. 



82 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

A tapering turret overtops the work. 

And when his hours are numbered, and the world 

Is all his own, retiring, as he were not, 

Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art 25 

To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone. 

Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work, 

The frolic architecture of the snow. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson 



SIXTH MONTH 
PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 

Mr. Longfellow imagined a party of friends met at a country inn, 
and telling tales before the fire. The first of these Tales of a Way- 
side Inn was by the landlord, and is this story of Paul Revere. Re- 
vere was an American patriot, a silversmith and engraver by trade, 
whose tea-pots and cream jugs and tankards may be found in old 
Boston families. He was a spirited man, and in the secrets of the 
Boston patriots. 

Listen, my children, and you shall hear 

Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, 

On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; 

Hardly a man is now alive 

Who remembers that famous day and year. 5 

He said to his friend, "If the British march 
By land or sea from the town to-night. 
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch 
Of the North Church tower as a signal light, — 

9. There has been some discussion as to the church tower from 
which the lanterns were hung, some claiming that the church was 
the old North Meeting-house in North Square, pulled down after- 
ward for fuel, during the siege of Boston; but the evidence points 
more clearly to Christ Church, still standing, and often spoken of 
as the North Church. The poet has departed somewhat from the 



FOURTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 83 

One, if by land, and two, if by sea; 10 

And I on the opposite shore will be. 
Ready to ride and spread the alarm 
Through every Middlesex village and farm, 
For the country folk to be up and to arm." 

Then he said, "Good night!" and with muffled oar 15 

Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, 

Just as the moon rose over the bay. 

Where swinging wide at her moorings lay 

The Somerset, British man-of-war; 

A phantom ship, with each mast and spar 20 

Across the moon like a prison bar, 

And a huge black hulk, that was magnified 

By its own reflection in the tide. 

Meanwhile his friend, through alley and street, 
Wanders and watches with eager ears, 25 

Till in the silence around him he hears 
The muster of men at the barrack door. 
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, 
And the measured tread of the grenadiers. 
Marching down to their boats on the shore. 30 

Then he climbed the tower-of the Old North Church, 

By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, 

To the belfry-chamber overhead, 

And startled the pigeons from their perch 

On the sombre rafters, that round him made 35 

Masses and moving shapes of shade, — 

actual historic facts, since Revere did not watch for the lights, nor 
did he reach Concord. In 1894, when April 19 was made a holiday 
in Massachusetts, under the name of Patriots' Day, there was an 
attempt at acting out the famous story of the ride. 



84 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

By the trembling ladder, steep and tall. 

To the highest window in the wall. 

Where he paused to listen and look down 

A moment on the roofs of the town, 40 

And the moonlight flowing over all. 

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead. 

In their night encampment on the hill. 

Wrapped in silence so deep and still 

That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, 45 

The watchful night-wind, as it went 

Creeping along from tent to tent, 

And seeming to whisper, "All is well!" 

A moment only he feels the spell 

Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread 50 

Of the lonely belfry and the dead; 

For suddenly all his thoughts are bent 

On a shadowy something far away, 

Where the river widens to meet the bay, — 

A line of black that bends and floats 55 

On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. 

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride. 

Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride 

On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. 

Now he patted his horse's side, 60 

Now gazed at the landscape far and near, 

Then, impetuous, stamped the earth, 

And turned and tightened his saddle-girth; 

But mostly he watched with eager search 

The belfry-tower of the Old North Church, 65 

As it rose above the graves on the hill. 

Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. 



FOURTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 85 

And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height 

A glimmer, and then a gleam of light ! 

He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, 70 

But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight 

A second lamp in the belfry burns! 

A hurry of hoofs in a village street, 

A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark. 

And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark 75 

Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet: 

That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the 

light, 
The fate of a nation was riding that night; 
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight. 
Kindled the land into flame with its heat. 80 

He has left the village and mounted the steep, 

And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep. 

Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides; 

And under the alders that skirt its edge. 

Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, 85 

Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. 

It was twelve by the village clock, 

When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. 

He heard the crowing of the cock. 

And the barking of the farmer's dog, 90 

And felt the damp of the river fog. 

That rises after the sun goes down. 

It was one by the village clock, 

When he galloped into Lexington. 

He saw the gilded weathercock '95 

Swim in the moonlight as he passed. 



86 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare. 

Gaze at him with a spectral glare, 

As if they already stood aghast 

At the bloody work they would look upon. 100 

It was two by the village clock. 

When he came to the bridge in Concord town. 

He heard the bleating of the flock, 

And the twitter of birds among the trees. 

And felt the breath of the morning breeze 105 

Blowing over the meadows brown. 

And one was safe and asleep in his bed 

Who at the bridge would be first to fall. 

Who that day would be lying dead, 

Pierced by a British musket-ball. 110 

You know the rest. In the books you have read, 
How the British Regulars fired and fled, — 
How the farmers gave them ball for ball. 
From behind each fence and farm-yard wall. 
Chasing the red-coats down the lane, 115 

Then crossing the fields to emerge again 
Under the trees at the turn of the road. 
And only pausing to fire and load. 

So through the night rode Paul Revere; 

And so through the night went his cry of alarm 

To every Middlesex village and farm, — 121 

A cry of defiance and not of fear, 

A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, 

And a word that shall echo forevermore! 

For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, 125 

Through all our history, to the last. 



FOURTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 87 

In the hour of darkness and peril and need, 
The people will waken and listen to hear 
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed. 
And the midnight message of Paul Revere. 130 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

THE MINSTREL BOY 

The Minstrel boy to the war is gone, 

In the ranks of death you'll find him; 
His father's sword he has girded on. 

And his wild harp slung behind him. — 
"Land of song!" said the warrior-bard, 5 

"Though all the world betrays thee. 
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard. 

One faithful harp shall praise thee!" 

The Minstrel fell ! — but the foeman's chain 

Could not bring his proud soul under; 10 

The harp he loved ne'er spoke again. 

For he tore its chords asunder; 
And said, "No chains shall sully thee. 

Thou soul of love and bravery! 
Thy songs were made for the pure and free, 15 

They shall never sound in slavery!" 

Thomas Moore 

COLUMBIA, THE GEM OF THE OCEAN 

O Columbia, the gem of the ocean. 
The home of the brave and the free. 
The shrine of each patriot's devotion, 
A world offers homage to thee. 



88 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Thy mandates make heroes assemble, 5 

When Liberty's form stands in view; 
Thy banners make tyranny tremble — 
Three cheers for the Red, White, and Blue! 

When war winged its wide desolation, 
And threatened the land to deform, 10 

The ark then of freedom's foundation, 
Columbia rode safe through the storm; 
With their garlands of vict'ry around her. 
When so proudly she bore her brave crew; 
With her flag proudly floating before her, 15 
Three cheers for the Red, White, and Blue! 

Old Glory to greet, now come hither. 
With eyes full of love to the brim. 
May the wreaths of our heroes ne'er wither. 
Nor a star of our Banner grow dim; 20 

May the service united ne'er sever, 
But they to our colors prove true; 
The Army and Navy forever! 
Three cheers for the Red, White, and Blue! 

David T. Shaw 



SEVENTH MONTH 

MARCH 

The cock is crowing. 
The stream is flowing. 
The small birds twitter, 
The lake doth glitter. 



FOURTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 89 

The green field sleeps in the sun; 5 

The oldest and youngest 

Are at work with the strongest; 

The cattle are grazing, 

Their heads never raising; 
There are forty feeding like one. 10 



Like an army defeated 

The snow hath retreated, 

And now doth fare ill 

On the top of the bare hill; 
The plough-boy is whooping, anon, anon! 15 

There's joy on the mountains, 

There's life in the fountains; 

Small clouds are sailing, 

Blue sky prevailing. 
The rain is over and gone. 20 

William Wordsworth 



THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN 

I 

Hamelin Town's in Brunswick, 

By famous Hanover city; 

The river Weser, deep and wide, 
Washes its wall on the southern side; 
A pleasanter spot you never spied; 

But when begins my ditty. 

Almost five hundred years ago, 

To see the townsfolk suffer so 

From vermin, was a pity. 



90 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

n 

Rats! 10 

They fought the dogs and killed the cats. 

And bit the babies in the cradles, 
And ate the cheeses out of the vats, 

And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles, 
Split open the kegs of salted sprats, 15 

Made nests inside men's Sunday hats. 
And even spoiled the women's chats 

By drowning their speaking 

With shrieking and squeaking 
In fifty different sharps and flats. 20 

III 
At last the people in a body 

To the Town Hall came flocking: 

'"T is clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy; 

And as for our Corporation — shocking 
To think we buy gowns lined with ermine 25 

For dolts who can't or won't determine 
What's best to rid us of our vermin! 
You hope, because you 're old and obese. 
To find in the furry civic robe ease? 
Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking 30 

To find the remedy we 're lacking. 
Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!" 
At this the Mayor and Corporation 
Quaked with a mighty consternation. 

IV 

An hour they sat in council; 35 

At length the Mayor broke silence: 



FOURTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 91 

"For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell, 

I wish I were a mile hence ! 
It 's easy to bid one rack one's brain — 
I 'm sure my poor head aches again, 40 

I 've scratched it so, and all in vain. 
Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap!" 
Just as he said this, what should hap 
At the chamber-door but a gentle tap? 
"Bless us," cried the Mayor, "what's that?" 45 
(With the Corporation as he sat. 
Looking little though wondrous fat; 
Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister 
Than a too-long-opened oyster, 
Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous 50 
For a plate of turtle green and glutinous) 
"Only a scraping of shoes on the mat? 
Ajiything like the sound of a rat 
Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!" 

V 
"Come in!" the Mayor cried, looking bigger: 55 
And in did come the strangest figure! 
His queer long coat from heel to head 
Was half of yellow and half of red, 
And he himself was tall and thin, 
With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, 60 

And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, 
No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin. 
But lips where smiles went out and in; 
There was no guessing his kith and kin: 
And nobody could enough admire 65 

The tall man and his quaint attire. 
Quoth one: "It's as my great-grandsire. 



92 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone, 

Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!" 

VI 

He advanced to the council-table : 70 

And, "Please your honors," said he, "I'm able, 

By means of a secret charm, to draw 

All creatures living beneath the sun, 

That creep or swim or fly or run. 

After me so as you never saw! 75 

And I chiefly use my charm 

On creatures that do people harm. 

The mole and toad and newt and viper; 

And people call me the Pied Piper." 

(And here they noticed round his neck 80 

A scarf of red and yellow stripe, 

To match with his coat of the self -same cheque; 

And at the scarf's end hung a pipe; 

And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying 

As if impatient to be playing 85 

Upon this pipe, as low it dangled 

Over his vesture so old-fangled.) 

"Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am, 

In Tartary I freed the Cham, 

Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats; 90 

I eased in Asia the Nizam 

Of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats: 

And as for what your brain bewilders. 

If I can rid your town of rats 

Will you give me a thousand guilders.''" 95 

89. The Great Cham or Khan of Tartary was a figure made 
familiar to Europe in the Pied Piper's day by Marco Polo, the 
Venetian traveller. 



FOURTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 93 

"One? fifty thousand!" — was the exclamation 
Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation. 

VII 

Into the street the Piper stept, 

Smihng first a Httle smile. 
As if he knew what magic slept 100 

In his quiet pipe the while; 
Then, like a musical adept. 
To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled. 
And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, 
Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled; 105 

And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, • 
You heard as if an army muttered; 
And the muttering grew to a grumbling; 
And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; 
And out of the houses the rats came tumbling. 110 
Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats. 
Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats, 
Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, 

Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins. 
Cocking tails and pricking whiskers, 115 

Families by tens and dozens. 
Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives — 
Followed the Piper for their lives. 
From street to street he piped advancing. 
And step for step they followed dancing, 120 

Until they came to the river Weser, 
Wherein all plunged and perished! 
— Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar, 
Swam across and lived to carry 
(As he, the manuscript he cherished) 125 

To Rat-land home his commentary: 



94 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Which was, " At the first shrill notes of the pipe, 

I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, 

And putting apples, wondrous ripe. 

Into a cider-press's gripe: 130 

And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards, 

And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, 

And a drawing the corks of train-oil flasks. 

And a breaking the hoops of butter casks: 

And it seemed as if a voice 135 

(Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery 

Is breathed) called out, 'Oh rats, rejoice! 

The world is grown to one vast drysaltery! 

So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, 

Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!' 140 

And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon. 

Already staved, like a great sun shone 

Glorious scarce an inch before me. 

Just as methought it said, 'Come, bore me!' 

— I found the Weser rolling o'er me." 145 

VIII 

You should have heard the Hamelin people 

Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple. 

"Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles. 

Poke out the nests and block up the holes! 

Consult with carpenters and builders, 150 

And leave in our town not even a trace 

Of the rats!" — when suddenly, up the face 

Of the Piper perked in the market-place. 

With a, " First, if you please, my thousand guilders ! " 

IX 

A thousand guilders ! The Mayor looked blue; 155 
So did the Corporation too. 



FOURTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 95 

For council dinners made rare havoc 

With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock; 

And half the money would replenish 

Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish. 160 

To pay this sum to a wandering fellow 

With a gypsy coat of red and yellow ! 

"Beside," quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink, 

"Our business was done at the river's brink; 

We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, 165 

And what's dead can't come to life, I think. 

So, friend, we 're not the folks to shrink 

From the duty of giving you something for drink. 

And a matter of money to put in your poke; 

But as for the guilders, what we spoke 170 

Of them, as you very well know, was in joke. 

Beside, our losses have made us thrifty. 

A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!" 

X 

The Piper's face fell, and he cried, 

"No trifling! I can't wait, beside! 175 

I 've promised to visit by dinner time 

Bagdat, and accept the prime 

Of the Head-Cook's pottage, all he's rich in. 

For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen, 

Of a nest of scorpions no survivor: 180 

With him I proved no bargain-driver 

With you, don't think I '11 bate a stiver ! 

And folks who put me in a passion 

May find me pipe after another fashion." 

XI 

"How?" cried the Mayor, "d' ye think I brook 185 
Being worse treated than a Cook? 



96 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Insulted by a lazy ribald 

With idle pipe and vesture piebald? 

You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst. 

Blow your pipe there till you burst!" 190 

XII 

Once more he stept into the street, 

And to his lips again 
Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane; 

And ere he blew three notes (such sweet 
Soft notes as yet musician's cunning 195 

Never gave the enraptured air) 
There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling 
Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling; 
Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering. 
Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering, 200 
And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scatter- 
ing, 
Out came the children running. 
All the little boys and girls. 
With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls. 
And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, 205 

Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after 
The wonderful music with shouting and laughter. 

XIII 

The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood 

As if they were changed into blocks of wood, 

Unable to move a step, or cry 210 

To the children merrily skipping by, 

— Could only follow with the eye 

That joyous crowd at the Piper's back. 

But how the Mayor was on the rack, 



FOURTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 97 

And the wretched Council's bosoms beat, 215 

As the Piper turned from the High Street 

To where the Weser rolled its waters 

Right in the way of their sons and daughters! 

However, he turned from South to West, 

And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, 220 

And after him the children pressed; 

Great was the joy in every breast. 

"He never can cross that mighty top! 

He 's forced to let the piping drop. 

And we shall see our children stop!" 225 

When, lo, as they reached the mountain-side, 

A wondrous portal opened wide. 

As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed; 

And the Piper advanced and the children followed, 

And when all were in to the very last, 230 

The door in the mountain-side shut fast. 

Did I say, all? No! One was lame. 

And could not dance the whole of the way; 

And in after years, if you would blame 

His sadness, he was used to say, — 235 

" It 's dull in our town since my playmates left ! 

I can't forget that I'm bereft 

Of all the pleasant sights they see. 

Which the Piper also promised me. 

For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, • 240 

Joining the town and just at hand. 

Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew. 

And flowers put forth a fairer hue, 

And everything was strange and new; 

The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, 245 

And their dogs outran our fallow deer. 



98 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

And honey-bees had lost their stings, 

And horses were born with eagles' wings: 

And just as I became assured 

My lame foot would be speedily cured, 250 

The music stopped and I stood still, 

And found myself outside the hill, 

Left alone against my will, 

To go now limping as before, 

And never hear of that country more!" 255 

XIV 

Alas, alas ! for Hamelin ! 

There came into many a burgher's pate 

A text which says that heaven's gate 

Opes to the rich at as easy rate 
As the needle's eye takes a camel in! 260 

The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South, 
To offer the Piper by word of mouth, 

Wherever it was men's lot to find him, 
Silver and gold to his heart's content. 
If he'd only return the way he went, 265 

And bring the children behind him. 
But when they saw 't was a lost endeavor. 
And Piper and dancers were gone forever, 
They made a decree that lawyers never 
. Should think their records dated duly 270 

If, after the day of the month and year, 
These words did not as well appear, 
"And so long after what happened here 

On the Twenty-second of July, 
Thirteen hundred and seventy-six": 275 

And the better in memory to fix 
275. So Verstegan; but another writer, seventy years later. 



FOURTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 99 

The place of the children's last retreat. 

They called it the Pied Piper's Street — 

Where any one playing on pipe or tabor 

Was sure for the future to lose his labor. 280 

Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern 

To shock with mirth a street so solemn; 
But opposite the place of the cavern 

They wrote the story on a column, 
And on the great church-window painted 285 

The same, to make the world acquainted 
How their children were stolen away. 
And there it stands to this very day. 
And I must not omit to say 

That in Transylvania there 's a tribe 290 

Of alien people who ascribe 
The outlandish ways and dress 
On which their neighbors lay such stress. 
To their fathers and mothers having risen 
Out of some subterraneous prison 295 

Into which they were trepanned 
Long time ago in a mighty band 
Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, 
But how or why, they don't understand. 

XV 

So, Willy, let me and you be wipers 300 

Of scores out with all men — especially pipers ! 
And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice, 
If we 've promised them aught, let us keep our promise ! 

Robert Browning 

Nathaniel Wanley, in his The Wonders of the Little World, is equally 
exact in giving another date, June 26, 1284. Howell, writing in 
1647, says loosely, "a matter of two hundred and fifty yeers since." 



100 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

THE CHILD'S WORLD 

Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World, 
With the wonderful water round you curled. 
And the wonderful grass upon your breast, — 
World, you are beautifully drest. 

The wonderful air is over me, 5 

And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree; 
It walks on the water, and whirls the mills. 
And talks to itself on the tops of the hills. 

You friendly Earth ! how far do you go, 

With the wheat-fields that nod, and the rivers 

that flow, 10 

With cities and gardens, and cliffs and isles. 
And people upon you for thousands of miles? 

Ah, you are so great, and I am so small, 

I tremble to think of you. World, at all; 

And yet, when I said my prayers to-day, 15 

A whisper inside me seemed to say, 

" You are more than the Earth, though you are 

such a dot: 
You can love and think, and the Earth cannot." 

Matthew Browne 

SWEET PEAS 

Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight: 
With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white. 
And taper fingers catching at all things. 
To bind them all about with tiny rings. 



FOURTH YEAR — EIGHTH MONTH 101 

Linger awhile upon some bending planks 5 

That lean against a streamlet's rushy banks, 
And watch intently Nature's gentle doings: 
They will be found softer than ringdove's cooings. 
How silent comes the water round that bend ! 
Not the minutest whisper does it send 10 

To the o'erhanging sallows: blades of grass 
Slowly across the chequer'd shadows pass. 

John Keats 

EIGHTH MONTH 
THE EAGLE 

FRAGMENT 

He clasps the crag with hooked hands; 
Close to the sun in lonely lands, 
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands. 

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; 

He watches from his mountain walls; 5 

And like a thunderbolt he falls. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

THE SANDPIPER 

Across the lonely beach we flit, 

One little sandpiper and I, 
And fast I gather, bit by bit. 

The scattered driftwood, bleached and dry. 
The wild waves reach their hands for it, 5 

The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, 
As up and down the beach we flit. 

One little sandpiper and I. 



102 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Above our heads the sullen clouds 

Scud, black and swift, across the sky; 10 
Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds 

Stand out the white lighthouses high. 
Almost as far as eye can reach 

I see the close-reefed vessels fly. 
As fast we flit along the beach, 15 

One little sandpiper and I. 

I watch him as he skims along, 

Uttering his sweet and mournful cry; 
He starts not at my fitful song. 

Nor flash of fluttering drapery. 20 

He has no thought of any wrong, 

He scans me with a fearless eye; 
Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong, 

The little sandpiper and I. 

Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night, 25 

When the loosed storm breaks furiously? 
My driftwood fire will burn so bright! 

To what warm shelter canst thou fly? 
I do not fear for thee, though wroth 

The tempest rushes through the sky; 30 

For are we not God's children both. 

Thou, little sandpiper, and I? 

Celia Thaxter 



THE OWL 

When cats run home and light is come. 

And dew is cold upon the ground, 
And the far-off stream is dumb, 



FOURTH YEAR — EIGHTH MONTH 103 

And the whirring sail goes round, 

And the whirring sail goes round; 6 

Alone and warming his five wits, 

The white owl in the belfry sits. 



When merry milkmaids click the latch. 
And rarely smells the new-mown hay. 
And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch 10 
Twice or thrice his roundelay, 
Twice or thrice his roundelay; 
Alone and warming his five wits, 
The white owl in the belfry sits. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 



THE BLUEBIRD 

Listen a moment, I pray you; what was that sound 

that I heard? 
Wind in the budding branches, the ripple of brooks, or 

a bird.? 
Hear it again, above us ! and see a flutter of wings ! 
The bluebird knows it is April, and soars toward the 

sun and sings. 
Never the song of the robin could make my heart so 

glad ; 5 

When I hear the bluebird singing in spring, I forget 

to be sad. 

Hear it! a ripple of music! sunshine changed into 

song ! 
It sets me thinking of summer when the days and their 

dreams are long. 



104 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Winged lute that we call a bluebird, you blend in a 

silver strain 
The sound of the laughing water, the patter of spring's 

sweet rain. 10 

The voice of the winds, the sunshine, and fragrance of 

blossoming things. 
Ah! you are an April poem, that God has dowered 

with wings! 

Eben Eugene Rexford 

HOME-THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD 

Oh, to be in England 

Now that iVpril's there, 

And whoever wakes in England 

Sees, some morning, unaware. 

That the lowest boughs and the brush-wood sheaf 5 

Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf. 

While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough 

In England — now ! 

And after April, when May follows. 
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows! 10 
Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge 
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover 
Blossoms and dewdrops — at the bent spray's edge — 
That 's the wise thrush ; he sings each song twice over, 
Lest you should think he never could recapture 15 
The first fine careless rapture ! 
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew. 
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew 
The buttercups, the little children's dower 
— Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower ! 20 

Robert Browning 



FOURTH YEAR — EIGHTH MONTH 105 

GREEN THINGS GROWING 

Oh, the green things growing, the green things growing. 
The faint sweet smell of the green things growing! 
I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve. 
Just to watch the happy life of my green things 
growing. 

Oh, the fluttering and the pattering of those green 
things growing! 5 

How they talk each to each, when none of us are 
knowing; 

In the wonderful white of the weird moonlight 

Or the dim dreamy dawn when the cocks are crowing. 

I love, I love them so, — my green things growing! 

And I think that they love me, without false show- 
ing; 10 

For by many a tender touch, they comfort me so 
much. 

With the soft mute comfort of green things growing. 

Dinah Mulock Craik 



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HE PATRIOTIC READER {For Grades VII and VIII and 

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HE LITTLE BOOK OF THE FLAG {For Grades VI, VII, 

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Riverside Literature Series, No. 261. Price, paper, 20 cents; cloth, 

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A collection of speeches and papers upon democracy and patriotism 
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MERICAN IDEALS {For the High School). Price $1.25. 
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. TREASURY OF WAR POETRY {For the High School). 

Riverside Literature Series, No. 262. Price, cloth, 52 cents. 
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THE TWINS SERIES ' 

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OPERA STORIES FROM WAGNER 

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tIPI)c i&ibetsiic iliccratuie Secies 



POEMS FOR THE STUDY 
OF LANGUAGE 

PRESCRIBED IN THE COURSE OF STUDY FOR THE 
COMMON SCHOOLS OF ILLINOIS 

PART TWO 
FOR FIFTH AND SIXTH YEARS 

Revised Edition, 1919 




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OFFICIAL ENDORSEMENT ^ -X^ »> 

The publication of this book was approved and endorsed by the 
Standing Committee on the Illinois State Course of Study at a 
special meeting held during the convention of the Dlinois State 
Teachers' Association at Springfield, Illinois, December 27-29, 1904. 



The present revised edition contains tlie poems recom- 
mended for language study, in tlie latest (1919) revision of 
the Official Course of Study, with the exception of seven 
omitted because of copyright restrictions or because of the 
limitations of space. The collection is available in three parts, 
each covering two years. Suggestions to Teachers are printed 
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COPYRIGHT 1905 AND I907 BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
COPYRIGHT, I913 AND I919, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 

ALL RIGHTS ftKSERVED 



Acknowledgment is due to Charles Scribner's Sons for the use of 
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Other Poems, by Henry van Dyke, for Nightfall in Dordrecht, taken 
from Second Book of Verse, by Eugene Field, and for Requiem, by 
Robert Louis Stevenson; to D. Appleton & Co. for The Story of the 
Wood from Little Folks Down South, by Frank L.* Stanton, and for 
the poems quoted from William Cullen Bryant; to Little, Brown 
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and The Bluebird, by Emily Huntington Miller; to Fleming H. 
Revell Company for Our Flag, taken from Lyrics of Love, by Mar- 
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Thanks are also due to the following authors for courteous permis- 
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RIVERSIDE LITERATURE SERIES 



(Continued) 



149. Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. 

150. Ouida's Dog of Flanders, etc 

151. Ewing's Jai'kaiiapes, etc. 

152. M'.irtineuu's The Peasant and the Prince. 
IXi. Shaikespeare'sMUlsuuiiiierNiglit's Dream. 

154. Sli;ikes[ieare's Tempest. 

155. Irving's Life of (loldsniith. 
I5f>. Teniiy-soii's Garetli and Lynette, etc. 
157. The Song of Koland. 
1.">S. Malory's Merlin and Sir Baliu. 
15i>. Beowulf. 

lUO. Spenser's Faerie Queene. Book I. 

Kil. Dickens's Tale of Two Cities. 

1G2. Prose and Poetry of Cardinal Newman. 

103. Shakespeare's Henry V. 

104. De Qnincey's Joan of Arc, etc. 

105. Scott's Qnentin Durward. 
KUi. Carlyle's Heroes and Hero-Worship. 
107. Longfellow's Antobiograpliical Poems. 
IGS. Shelley's Poems. 

109. Lowell's My Garden Acquaintance, etc. 

17(1. Lamb's Essays of Elia. 

171, 17'2. Emerson's Essays. 

17:i. Kate Douglas Wiggin's Flag-Raising. 

174. Kate Dougl.as Wiggin's Finding a Home. 

175. Whittier's Autobiogr.aphioal Poems, 
170. Burroughg's Afoot and Afloat. 
177. Bacon's E.«says. 
17S. Selections from John Ruskin. 
17'.K King Arthur Stories from Malory. 
IW. I'almer's Odyssey. 
181. Goldsmith's The (lood-Natnred Man. 
18'-'. Goklsuiitli's She Stoops to Conciuer. 

183. Old English and Scottish Ballads. 

184. Sliakcspe ire's King Lear. 

185. Moores's Life of Lincoln. 
180. Thoreau's Camping in tlie Maine Woods. 
187,188. Hu.vlevs .Autobiography, and Essays. 

189. Byron's Ciiihle Harold, Canto IV, etc. 

190. Washington's Farewell Address, and Web- 

ster's Bunker Hill Oration. 

191. The Second Shepherds' Play, etc. 
19'i. Mrs. Gaskell's Cranford. 
r,l3. Williams's .ICneid. 

194. Irving's Bracebridge Hall. Selections. 

195. Thoreau's Walden. 
190. Sheridan's The Rivals. 
197. Parton's Captains of Industry. Selected. 
198,199. Macanlay's Lord Clive and W. Hastings. 
2()(). Howells's The Rise of Silas Lapham. 
201. Harris's Little Mr. Thimblefinger Stories. 
20-2. Jewett's The Night Before Th.anksgiving. 

203. Shnmwav's Nibelungenlied. 

204. Sheffield's Old Testament Narrative. 

205. Powers's A Dickens Reader. 
2(M;. Goethe'.s Faust. Part I. 

207. Cooper's The Spy. 

208. Aldrich's Story of a Bad Boy. 

209. Warner's Being a Boy. 

210. Kate Dongliis Wiggin's Polly Oliver's Pro- 

hleni. 

211. Milton's Areopagitica, etc. 

212. Shakespeare's Romeo ami Juliet. 

213. Hemingway's Le Morte Arthur. 

214. Moores's Life of Columbus. 



215. Bret Hnrte's Tennessee's Partner, etc. 
'216. Ralph Roister Doister. 

217. Gorboduc. {In preparation.) 

218. Selected Lyrics from Wordsworth, Keats, 
and Shelley. 

21;). Selected Lyrics from Dryden, Collins, 
Gray, Cowper, and Burns. 

220. Southern Poems. 

221. Macanlay's Speeches on Copyright; Lin- 
coln's Cooper Union Address. 

222. Briggs's College Lite. 

223. Selections from the Prose Writings of Mat- 
thew Arnold. 

224. Perry's American Mind and American 
Idealism. 

225. Newman's University Subjects. 
220. Burroughs's Studies in Nature and Lit- 
erature. 

227. Bryce's Promoting Good Citizenship. 

228. Selected English Letters. 

229. Jewett's Play-Day Stories. 

230. Grenfell's Adiift on an Ice-Pan. 

231. Muir's Stickeen. 

232. Harte's Waif of the Plains, etc. (/7^ 
prepaiuduii.) 

233. Teiuiyson's The Coming of Arthur, the 
Holy Grail and the Passing of Arthur. 

2.'?4. Selected Essays. 

235. Briggs's To College Girls. 

23(i. Lowell's Literary Essays. (Selected.) 

238. Short Stories. 

239. Selections from American Poetry. 

240. Howells's The Sleeping Car, and The 
Parlor Car. 

241. Mills's The Story of a Thousand- Year 
Pine, etc. 

242. Eliot's Training for an Effective Life. 

243. Bryant's Hind. Abridged Edition. 

244. Lockwood's English Soimets. 
2-15. Antin's At School in the Promised Land. 
'24(i. Shepard's Shakespeare Questions. 
247. Muir's The Boyhood of a Naturalist. 
218. Boswell's Life of Johnson. 

249. Palmer's Self-Cultivation in English, and 
The Glory of the Imperfect. 

2,^>0. Sheridan's The School for Scandal. 

251. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and 
Piers the Ploughman. 

252. Howells's A Modern Instance. 
'2.53. Helen Keller's The Story of My Life. 

254. Rittenhouse's The Little Book of Modern 
Verse. 

255. Rittenhouse's The Little Book of Ameri 
can Poets. 

250. Richards's High Tide. 

257. Kipling Stories and Poems Every Child 
Should Know, Book I. 

258. Kipling Stories and Poems Every Child 
Should Know, Book II. 

259. Burroughs's The Wit of a Duck and Other 
Papers. 

200. Irving's Tales from the Alhambra. 

201. Liberty, Peace, and Justice. 

202. A Treasury of War Poetry. 
^ 203. Peabody'8 The Piper. 

{See also back cover) (75) 



RIVERSIDE LITERATURE SERIES |j 

(Continued) 



EXTRA NUMBERS 



Americar Authors and their Birthdays. 

Biographical Sketches of American Au- 
thiorr,. 

Warriner's Teaching of English Classics 
in the Grades. 

Scudder's Literature in School. 

Longfellow Leaflets. 

Whittier Leaflets. 

Holmes Leaflets. 

Thomas'sHowto Teach English Classics. 

Holbrook's Northland Heroes. 

Minimum College Requirements in 
English for Study. 

The Riverside Song Book. 
M Lowell's Fable for Critics. 
i\' Selections from American Authors. 
O Lowell Leaflets. 
P Holbrook's Hiawatha Primer. 
y Selections from English Authors. 



R Ha wthorne ' s Twice-Told Tales. Selected 

-S Irving' s Essays from Sketch Book. S6 
lected. 

T Literature for the Study of Language. 

U A Dramatization of the Song of Hia- 
watha. 

V Holbrook's Book of Nature Myths. 

W Brown's In the Days of Giants. 

X Poems for the Study of Language. 

}' Warner's In the Wilderness. 

Z Nine Selected Poems. 

A A Coleridge's The Ancient Mariner an(i 
Lowell's The Vision of Sir Launfal. 

BB Poe's The Raven, Whittier 's Snow- 
Bound, and Longfellow's The Court- 
ship of Miles Standish. 

CC Selections for Study and Memorizing. 

DD Sharp's The Year Out-of-Doors. 

£•/? Poems for Memorizing. 



LIBRARY BINDING 

«35-i36. Chaucer's Prologue, The Knight's Tale, and The Nun's Priest's Tale. 

i6o. Spenser's Faerie Queene, Book I. 

i66. Carlyle's Heroes and Hero-Worship. 

i68. Shelley's Poems. Selected. 

177. Bacon's Essays. 

178. Selections from the Works of John Ruskin. 

181-182. Goldsmith's The Good-Natured Man, and She Stoops to Conquer. 

183. Old English and Scottish Ballads. 

187-188. Huxley's Autobiography and Selected Essays. 

191. Second Shepherd's Play, Everyman, etc. 

211. Milton's Areopagitica, etc. 

216. Ralph Roister Doister, 

222. Briggs's College Life. * 

223. Selections from the Prose Works of Matthew Arnold. 

224. Perry's The American Mind and American Idealism. 
325. Newman's University Subjects. 

226. Burroughs's Studies in Nature and Literature. 

227. Bryce's Promoting Good Citizenship. 

235. Briggs's To College Girls, 

236. Selected Literary Essays from James Russell Lowell. 
242. Eliot's The Training for an Effective Life. 

244. Lockwood's English Sonnets. 

246. Shepard's Shakespeare Questions. 

248. Boswell's Life of Johnson. Abridged. 

250. Sheridan's The School for Scandal. 

251. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and Piers the Ploughman. 

252. Howells's A Modern Instance. 

254. Rittenhouse's The Little Book of Modern Verse. 

255. Rittenhouse's The Little Book of American Poets. 

256. Richards 's High Tide. 

K. Minimum College Requirements in English for Study. 



Complete Catalogue and Price List free upon afplic&cton 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 



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RIVERSIDE LITERATURE SERIES 

Complete Catalogue and Price List free upon application 



1. Longfellow's Evangeline. 

2. Longfellow's Courtship of Miles Standish. 

3. Dramatization of Miles StanJish. 

4. Whittier's Snow-Bound, eto. 

5. Whittier's Mabel Martin. 

6. Holmes's Grandmother's Story. 

7. 8, 9. Hawthorne's Grandfather's Chair. 

10. Hawthorne's Biographical Series. 

11. Longfellow's Children's Hour, etc. 
13, 14. Longfellow's Song of Hiawatha. 
15. Lowell's Under the Old Elm, etc. 
lt>. Bayard Taylor's Lars. 

17, 18. Hawthorne's Wonder-Book. 

la, 20. Franklin's Autobiography. 

21. Franklin's Poor Richard's .\lmanac, etc. 

2'i, 23. Hawthorne's Tanglewood Tales. 

24. Washington's Farewell Addresses, etc. 

25, 2C. Longfellow's Golden Legend. 
27.' Thoreau's Forest Trees, eto. 

28. Burroughs's Birds and Bees. 

29. Hawthorne's Little Dattydowndilly, etc. 

30. Lowell's Vision of Sir Launfal, etc. 

31. Holmes's My Hunt after the Captain, etc. 

32. Lincoln's Gettysburg Speech, etc. 
33-35. Longfellow's Tales of a Wayside Inn. 
3G. Burroughs's Sharp Eyes, etc. 

37. Warner's A-Hunting of the Deer, etc. 
3S. Longfellow's Building of the Ship, etc. 

39. Lowell's Books and Libraries, etc. 

40. Hawthorne's Tales of the Wliite Hills. 

41. Whittier's Tent on the Beach, etc. 

42. Emerson's Fortune of the Republic, etc. 

43. Bryant's Ulysses among the l'h;eacians. 

44. Edgeworth's Waste not. Want not, etc. 

45. Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Home. 
40. Old Testament Stories. 

47, 48. Scudder's Fables and Folk Stories. 
40, 50. Andersen's Stories. 

51. Irving's Rip Van Winkle, etc. 

52. Irving's The Voyage, etc. 

53. Scott's Lady of the Lake. 

54. Bryant's Thanatopsis, etc. 

.55. Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice. 
5(). Webster's Fir.st Bunker Hill Oration. 

57. Dickens's Christmas Carol. 

58. Dickens's Cricket on the Hearth. 

59. Verse and Prose for Beginners in Reading. 
00, 01. The Sir Roger de Coverley Papers. 

02. Fiske's War of Independence. 

03. Longfellow's Paul Revere 's Ride, etc. 
04-00. Lambs' Tales from Shakespeare. 

07. Shakespeare's Julius C;ipsar. 

08. Goldsmith's Deserted Village, etc. 
G'.l. Hawthorne's The Old Manse, etc. 

70, 71. Selection from Whittier's Child Life. 

72. Milton's Minor Poems. 

73. Tennyson's Enoch Arden, etc. 

74. Gray's Elegy ; Cowper's John Gilpin. 

75. Scudder's George Washington. 

70. Wordsworth's Intimations of Immortality. 

77. Burns's Cotter's Saturday Night, etc, 

78. Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield. 

79. Lamb's Old China, etc. 



•1 



80. Coleridge's Ancient Mariner ; Campbell': 

Lochiel's Warning, etc. 

81 . Holmes' s Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table 

82. Hawthorne's Twice-Told Tales. 

83. Eliot's Silas Marner. 

84. Dana's Two Years Before the Mast. 

85. Hughes's Tom Brown's School Days. 
80. Scott's Ivanhoe. 

87. Defoe's Robinson Crusoe. 

88. Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin. 

89. 90. Swift's Gulliver's Voyages. 

91. Hawthorne's House of the Seven Gables. 

92. Burroughs's A Bunch of Herbs, etc. 
9.;. Shakespeare's As Vou Like It. 

94. Milton's Paradise Lost. Books I-III. 
95-98. Cooper's La.st of the Mohicans. w 
99. Tennyson's Cimiing of Arthur, etc. I 
KKI. Burke's Conciliati(jn with the ColonieB.T 

101. Pope's Iliad. Books I, VI, X.X.I1, XXIV 

102. Macaulay's Johnson and Goldsmith. 

103. Macaulay's Milton. 

104. Macaulay's Addison. 

105. Carlyle's Essay on Burns. 
100. Shakespeare's Macbeth. 
107, 108. Grimms' Tales. 

109. Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. 

110. De Quitu'ey's Flight of a Tartar Tribe. 

111. Tennyson's Princess. 

112. Cranch's ^neid. Books I-III. 

113. Poems from Einer.son. 

114. Peabody's Old Greek Folk Stories. 

115. Browning's Pied Piper of Hamelin, etc. 
110. Shakespeare'.s Hamlet. 

117,118. Stories from the Arabian Nights. ■ 

1 19, V20. Ppe's Poems and Tales. I 

121. Speecii by Hayne on Foote's Resolutiorf, 

122. Speech by Webster in Reply to Hajiie. 

123. Lowell's Democracy, etc. 

1'24. Aldrich's The Cruise of the Dolphin. _ 
125. Dry<len's Palamon and Arcite. 

120. Ruskin's King of the Golden River, et< 

127. Keats's Ode on a Grecian Urn, etc 

128. Byron's Prisoner of Chillon, etc. 

129. Plato's Judgment of Socrates. 

130. Emerson's The Superlative, etc. 

131. Emer.son's Nature, etc. 

132. Arnold's Sohrab and Rustum, etc. 

133. Schnrz's Abraham Lincoln. 

134. Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel. 

135. Chaucer's Prologue. 
1.30. Chaucer's The Knight's Tale, etc. 1 

137. Bryant's Iliad. Bks. I, VI, XXII, XXIV. 

138. Hawthorne's The Cu.stom House, etc. 

139. Howells's Doorstep Acquaintance, etc. 

140. Thackeray's Henry Esmond. 

141. Higgiuson's Three Outdoor Papers. 

142. Ruskin's Sesame and Lilies. 

143. Plutarch's Alexander the Great. 

144. Scudder's The Book of Legends. 

145. Hawthorne's The Gentle Boy, etc. 
140. Longfellow's Giles Corey. 

147. Pope's Rape of the Lock, etc. 

148. Hawthorne's Marble Faun. 



{See also back covers.) 



(74) 



CONTENTS 



FIFTH YEAR 

First Month 

Sailors' Song Thomas Lovell Beddoes 107 

A Sea Dirge William Shakespeare 107 

The Wreck of the Hesperus H. W. Longfellow l08 

Second Month 

The Fountain James Russell Lowell 111 

On the Death of a Mad Dog Oliver Goldsmith 113 
Autumn Woods William CuUen Bryant 114 

The Camel's Nose Lydia Huntly Sigouruey 116 

Third Month ' > 

Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers F. D. Hemans 117 
The One Hundredth Psalm The Bible 118 

The First Snow-fall James Russell Lowell 119 

Fourth Month 

Christmas Everywhere Phillips Brooks 120 

Christmas Bells Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 120 
A Christmas Carol Christina G. Rossetti 122 

Fifth Month 

The Arrow and the Song H. W. Longfellow 123 
The Bell of Atri Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 123 
The Miller of the Dee Charles Mackay 127 

Aladdin James Russell Lowell 128 

Sixth Month 

Charge of the Light Brigade Lord Tennyson 129 

Battle-Hymn of the Republic Julia Ward Howe 131 

The Name of Old Glory James Whitcomb Riley 132 

The American Flag Joseph Rodman Drake 135 



iv CONTENTS 



♦I 



Seventh Month 

Plant a Tree Lucy Larcom 137 

The Leap of Roushan Beg H. W. Longfellow 139 

The Bugle Song Alfred, Lord Tennyson 142 

Eighth Month 

The Daffodils William Wordsworth 142 

The Cloud Percy Bysshe Shelley 143 

SIXTH YEAR 

First Month 

Lord Ullin's Daughter Thomas Campbell 146 

The Skeleton in Armor H. W. Longfellow 148 

Under the Greenwood Tree Shakespeare 155 

La Belle Dame sans Merci John Keats 155 

Second Month 

My Heart's IN THE Highlands Robert Burns 157 
Hie Away Sir Walter Scott 158 

Young Lochinvar Sir Walter Scott 158 

Hiawatha's Childhood H. W. Longfellow 160 

Third Month 

Allen-a-Dale Sir Walter Scott 163 

Song of the Elfin Miller Allan Cunningham 165 

The Leak in the Dike Phoebe Cary 166 

Fourth Month 

Christmastide Richard Burton 172 

God rest you merry, Gentlemen Old English 172 
Rosabelle Sir Walter Scott 174 

Annan Water Unknown 176 

Fifth Month 

Snow-Bound (Selections) John Greenleaf Whittier 178 
To-day Thomas Carlyle 186 

On the Grasshopper and Cricket John Keats 186 
You ARE Old, Father William Lewis Carroll 187 
Jock of Hazeldean Sir Walter Scott 188 

The Lass of Lochroyan Unknown 190 



CONTENTS V 

Sixth Month 

The Courtship of Miles Standish (Selections) 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 194 
The Song of the Camp Bayard Taylor 205 

A'nnie Laurie Unknown 207 

The Flag James Riley 208 

Ye Mariners of England Thomas Campbell 209 
Fair Helen of Kirconnell Unknown 210 

Seventh Month 

The Voice of Spring Felicia D. Hemans 212 

A Legend of Bregenz Adelaide Procter 215 

Incident of the French Camp Robert Browning 222 
The Builders Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 224 

Columbus Joaquin Miller 225 

Eighth Month 

The Ruby-crowned Kinglet Henry van Dyke 227 
The Blue and the Gray Francis Miles Finch 230 
Lady CluVre Alfred, Lord Tennyson 232 

The King of Denmark's Ride Caroline E. Norton 235 



POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF 
LANGUAGE 

FIFTH YEAR 
FIRST MONTH 

SAILORS' SONG 

To sea, to sea! The calm is o'er; 

The wanton water leaps in sport, 
And rattles down the pebbly shore; 

The dolphin wheels, the sea-cows snort; 
And unseen mermaids' pearly song 5 

Comes bubbling up, the weeds among. 
Fling broad the sail, dip deep the oar: 

To sea, to sea! the calm is o'er. 

To sea, to sea ! our wide-winged bark 

Shall billowy cleave its sunny way, 10 

And with its shadow, fleet and dark. 

Break the caved Tritons' azure day. 
Like mighty eagle soaring light 
O'er antelopes on Alpine height. 

The anchor heaves, the ship swings free, 15 
The sails swell full. To sea, to sea ! 

Thomas Lovell Beddoes 

A SEA DIRGE 

Full fathom five thy father lies: 

Of his bones are coral made; 
Those are pearls that were his eyes: 

Nothing of him that doth fade, 



108 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

But doth suffer a sea-change 5 

Into something rich and strange; 
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: 
Hark ! now I hear them, — 
Ding, dong, bell. 

Shakespeare 

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 

It was the schooner Hesperus, 

That sailed the wintry sea; 
And the skipper had taken his little daughter, 

To bear him company. 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy -flax, 5 

Her cheeks like the dawn of day. 

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds. 
That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm. 

His pipe was in his mouth, 10 

And he watched how the veering flaw did blow 
The smoke now West, now South. 

Then up and spake an old Sailor, 

Had sailed to the Spanish Main, 

" I pray thee, put into yonder port, 15 

For I fear a hurricane. 



"Last night, the moon had a golden ring. 
And to-night no moon we see!" 

The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe. 
And a scornful laugh laughed he. 



i 



FIFTH YEAR — FIRST MONTH 109 

Colder and louder blew the wind, 

A gale from the Northeast, 
The snow fell hissing in the brine, 

And the billows frothed like yeast. 

Down came the storm, and smote amain 25 

The vessel in its strength; 
She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, 

Then leaped her cable's length. 

" Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter. 
And do not tremble so; 30 

For I can weather the roughest gale 
That ever wind did blow." 

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat 

Against the stinging blast; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar, 35 

And bound her to the mast. 

"O father! I hear the church-bells ring. 

Oh say, what may it he?" 
"'T is a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!" — 

And he steered for the open sea. 40 

"O father! I hear the sound of guns. 

Oh say, what may it be?" 
"Some ship in distress, that cannot live 

In such an angry sea!" 

" O father ! I see a gleaming light, 45 

Oh say, what may it be.''" 
But the father answered never a word, 

A frozen corpse was he. 



110 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 

With his face turned to the skies, 50 

The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow 
On his fixed and glassy eyes. 

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed 

That saved she might be; 
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave,55 

On the Lake of Galilee. 

And fast through the midnight dark and drear, 
Through the whistling sleet and snow. 

Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 

Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe. CO 

And ever the fitful gusts between 

A sound came from the land; 
It was the sound of the trampling surf 

On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 

The breakers were right beneath her bows, 65 

She drifted a dreary wreck, 
And a whooping billow swept the crew 

Like icicles from her deck. 

She struck where the white and fleecy waves 

Looked soft as carded wool, 70 

But the cruel rocks, they gored her side 
Like the horns of an angry bull. 

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice. 
With the masts went by the board; 

Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, 75 

Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! 



FIFTH YEAR— SECOND MONTH 111 

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast, 
To see the form of a maiden fair, 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. ; 80 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 

The salt tears in her eyes; 
And he saw her hair, like the brown seaweed, 

On the billows fall and rise. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 85 

In the midnight and the snow! 
Christ save us all from a death like this, 

On the reef of Norman's Woe ! 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 



SECOND MONTH 

THE FOUNTAIN 

Into the sunshine. 

Full of the light, 
Leaping and flashing 

From morn till night; 

Into the moonlight, 5 

Whiter than snow. 
Waving so flower-like 

When the winds blow; 

88. It was the loss of a real schooner Hesperus, off the reef of 
Norman's Woe, near Gloucester, Massachusetts, which suggested 
this ballad to the poet. 



112 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Into the starlight 

Rushing in spray, IQ 

Happy at midnight, 

Happy by day; 

Ever in motion, 

Bhthesome and cheery, 

Still climbing heavenward, 15 

Never a weary; 

Glad of all weathers. 

Still seeming best, 
Upward or downward, 

Motion thy rest; 20 

Full of a nature 

Nothing can tame. 
Changed every moment. 

Ever the same; 

Ceaseless aspiring, 25 

Ceaseless content. 
Darkness or sunshine 

Thy element; 

Glorious fountain. 

Let my heart be 30 

Fresh, changeful, constant. 

Upward, like thee! 

James Russell Lotcell 



FIFTH YEAR — SECOND MONTH 113 

ELEGY ON THE DEx\TH OF A MAD DOG 

Good people all, of every sort, 

Give ear unto my song; 
And if you find it wondrous short — 

It cannot hold you long. 

In Islington there was a Man, 5 

Of whom the world might say, 
That still a godly race he ran — 

Whene'er he went to pray. 

A kind and gentle heart he had. 

To comfort friends and foes: 10 

The naked every day he clad, — 

When he put on his clothes. 

And in that town a Dog was found, 

As many dogs there be. 
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, 15 

And curs of low degree. 

This Dog and Man at first were friends; 

But when a pique began, 
The Dog, to gain some private ends, 

Went mad, and bit the Man. 20 

Around from all the neighbouring streets 

The wondering neighbours ran. 
And swore the Dog had lost his wits, 

To bite so good a Man ! 

The wound it scem'd both sore and sad 25 

To every Christian eye: 



114 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

And while they swore the Dog was mad, 
They swore the Man would die. 

But soon a wonder came to light, 
That show'd the rogues they lied: — 

The Man recover'd of the bite, 
The Dog it was that died ! 

Oliver Goldsmith 



AUTUMN WOODS 

Ere, in the northern gale, 
The summer tresses of the trees are gone. 
The woods of Autumn, all around our vale, 

Have put their glory on. 

The mountains that infold, 5 

In their wide sweep, the colored landscape round. 
Seem groups of giant kings, in purple and gold. 

That guard the enchanted ground. 

I roam the woods that crown 
The uplands, where the mingled splendors glow, 10 
Where the gay company of trees look down 

On the green fields below. 

My steps are not alone 
In these bright walks; the sweet southwest, at play, 
Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strown 15 

Along the winding way. 

And far in heaven, the while, 
The sun, that sends that gale to wander here. 



FIFTH YEAR — SECOND MONTH 115 

Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile — 

The sweetest of the year. 20 

Where now the solemn shade, 
Verdure and gloom where many branches meet; 
So grateful, when the noon of summer made 

The valleys sick with heat? 

Let in through all the trees 25 

Come the strange rays; the forest depths are bright; 
Their sunny colored foliage, in the breeze, 

Twinkles, like beams of lights. 

The rivulet, late unseen, 
Where bickering through the shrubs its waters run, 30 
Shines with the image of its golden screen, 

And glimmerings of the sun. 

But 'neath yon crimson tree. 
Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, 
Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, 35 

Her blush of maiden shame. 

Oh, Autumn, why so soon 
Depart the hues that make thy forests glad, 
Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon. 

And leave thee wild and sad ! 40 

Ah ! 't were a lot too blest 
Forever in thy colored shades to stray; 
Amid the kisses of the soft southwest 

To roam and dream for aye; 



116 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE * 

And leave the vain low strife 45 

That makes men mad — the tug for wealth and 

power — 
The passions and the cares that wither life, 
And waste its little hour. 

William Cullen Bryant 

THE CAMEL'S NOSE 

Once in his shop a workman wnrought. 
With languid hand and listless thought, 
When through the open window's space, 
Behold ! a camel thrust his face: 
"My nose is cold," he meekly cried; 5 

"Oh, let me warm it by thy side!" 

Since no denial word was said. 

In came the nose, in came the head; 

As sure as sermon follows text. 

The long and scraggy neck came next; 10 

And then, as falls the threatening storm. 

In leaped the whole ungainly form. 

Aghast the owner gazed around. 

And on the rude invader frowned. 

Convinced, as closer still he pressed, 15 

There was no room for such a guest; 

Yet more astonished heard him say, 

" If thou art troubled, go away. 

For ju this place I choose to stay." 

Lydia Huntly Sigourney 



FIFTH YEAR — THIRD MONTH 117 

THIRD MONTH 

THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM 
FATHERS IN NEW ENGLAND 

The breaking waves dashed high 

On a stern and rockbound coast. 
And the woods against a stormy sky 

Their giant branches tossed. 

And the heavy night hung dark 5 

The hills and waters o'er, 
When a band of exiles moored their bark 

On the wild New England shore. 

Not as the conqueror comes. 

They, the true-hearted, came; 10 

Not with the roll of the stirring drums, 

And the trumpet that sings of fame. 

Not as the flying come, 

In silence and in fear; — 
They shook the depths of the desert gloom 15 

With their hymns of lofty cheer. 

Amidst the storm they sang, 

And the stars heardj and the sea: 

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang 
To the anthem of the free ! 20 

The ocean eagle soared 

From his nest by the white wave's foarh : 
And the rocking pines of the forest roared, — 

This was their welcome home! 



118 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

There were men with hoary hair 25 

Amidst that pilgrim band: — 
Why had they come to wither there, 

Away from their childhood's land? 



There was woman's fearless eye. 

Lit by her deep love's truth; 30 

There was manhood's brow serenely high, 

And the fiery heart of youth. 

What sought they thus afar? 

Bright jewels of the mine? 
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? 35 

They sought a faith's pure shrine! 

Ay, call it holy ground, 

The soil where first they trod: 
They have left unstained what there they 
found, — 
Freedom to worship God. 40 

Felicia D. Hemans 



THE ONE HUNDREDTH PSALM 

Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands. 

Serve the Lord with gladness: come before his 
presence with singing. 

Know ye that the Lord he is God : it is he that hath 
made us, and not we ourselves; we are his people, and 
the sheep of his pasture. 

Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his 






FIFTH YEAR — THIRD MONTH 119 

courts with praise : be thankful unto him, and bless his 
name. 

For the Lord is good: his mercy is everlasting; and 
his truth endureth to all generations. 

The Bible 



THE FIRST SNOW-FALL 

{Abridged) 
The snow had begun in the gloaming. 

And busily all the night 
Had been heaping field and highway 

With a silence deep and white. 

Every pine and fir and hemlock 5 

Wore ermine, too dear for an earl. 

And the poorest twig on the elm-tree 
Was ridged inch deep with pearl. 

From sheds new-roofed with Carrara 

Came Chanticleer's mufBed crow, 10 

The stiff rails softened to swan's-down. 
And still fluttered down the snow. 

I stood and watched by the window 

The noiseless work of the sky, 
And the sudden flurries of snow-birds, 15 

Like brown leaves whirling by. 



Up spoke our own little Mabel, 

Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?" 

And I told of the good All-father 

Who cares for us here below. 20 

James Russell Lowell 



120 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 
FOURTH MONTH 

CHRISTMAS EVERYWHERE 

Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night! 
Christmas in lands of the fir-tree and pine, 
Christmas in lands of the palm-tree and vine, 
Christmas where snow peaks stand solemn and white, 
Christmas where cornfields lie sunny and bright. 5 

Christmas where children are hopeful and gay, 
Christmas where old men are patient and gray, 
Christmas where peace, like a dove in his flight. 
Broods o'er brave men in the thick of the fight; 
Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night! 10 

For the Christ-child who comes is the Master of all; 
No palace too great, and no cottage too small. 

Phillips Brooks 

CHRISTMAS BELLS 

I HEARD the bells on Christmas Day 
Their old, familiar carols play. 

And wild and sweet 

The words repeat 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! 5 

And thought how, as the day had come, 
The belfries of all Christendom 

Had rolled along 

The unbroken song 
Of peace on earth, good- will to men. 10 



FIFTH YEAR — FOURTH MONTH 121 

Till, ringing, singing on its way. 

The world revolved from night to day, 

A voice, a chime, 

A chant sublime 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! 15 



Then from each black, accursed mouth 
The cannon thundered in the South, 

And with the sound 

The carols drowned 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men! 20 

It was as if an earthquake rent 
The hearth-stones of a continent. 

And made forlorn 

The households born 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! 25 

And in despair I bowed my head; 
"There is no peace on earth," I said; 

"For hate is strong. 

And mocks the song 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!" 30 

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: 
"God is not dead; nor doth he sleep! 

The Wrong shall fail, 

The Right prevail. 
With peace on earth, good-will to men!" 35 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 



122 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

A CHRISTMAS CAROL 

In the bleak midwinter 

Frosty wind made moan, 
Earth stood hard as iron, 

Water like a stone; 
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, 

Snow on snow. 
In the bleak midwinter 

Long ago. 

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him 

Nor earth sustain; 10 

Heaven and earth shall flee away, 

When He comes to reign. 
In the bleak midwinter 

A stable place sufficed 
The Lord God Almighty, 15 

Jesus Christ. 

Angels and archangels 

May have gathered there; 
Cherubim and seraphim 

Thronged the air. 20 

But only His Mother, 

In her maiden bliss, 
Worshiped her beloved 

With a kiss. 

What can I give Him.?* 25 

Poor as I am? 
If I were a shepherd, 

I would bring a lamb; 



FIFTH YEAR — FIFTH MONTH 123 

If I were a wise man, 

I would do my part, — 30 

Yet what I can I give Him, 

Give my heart. 

Christina G. Rossetti 

FIFTH MONTH 
THE ARROW AND THE SONG 

I SHOT an arrow into the air, 
It fell to earth, I knew not where; 
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight 
Could not follow it in its flight. 

I breathed a song into the air, 5 

It fell to earth, I knew not where; 
For who has sight so keen and strong. 
That it can follow the flight of song? 

Long, long afterwards, in an oak 

I found the arrow, still unbroke; 10 

And the song, from beginning to end, 

I found again in the heart of a friend. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

THE BELL OF ATRI 

At Atri in Abruzzo, a small town 

Of ancient Roman date, but scant renown. 

One of those little places that have run 

Half up the hill, beneath a blazing sun, 

And then sat down to rest, as if to say, 5 

"I climb no farther upward, come what may," — 

The Re Giovanni, now unknown to fame. 

So many monarchs since have borne the name, 



124 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Had a great bell hung in the market-place 

Beneath a roof, projecting some small space, 1( 

By way of shelter from the sun and rain. 

Then rode he through the streets with all his train, 

And, with the blast of trumpets loud and long, 

Made proclamation, that whenever wrong 

Was done to any man, he should but ring 15 

The great bell in the square, and he, the King, 

Would cause the Syndic to decide thereon. 

Such was the proclamation of King John. 

How swift the happy days in Atri sped. 

What wrongs were righted, need not here be said. 20" 

Suffice it that, as all things must decay, 

The hempen rope at length was worn away. 

Unravelled at the end, and, strand by strand. 

Loosened and wasted in the ringer's hand, 

Till one, who noted this in passing by. 

Mended the rope with braids of briony. 

So that the leaves and tendrils of the vine 

Hung like a votive garland at a shrine. 

By chance it happened that in Atri dwelt 
A knight, with spur on heel and sword in belt, 
Who loved to hunt the wild-boar in the woods, 
Who loved his falcons Avith their crimson hoods. 
Who loved his hounds and horses, and all sports 
And prodigalities of camps and courts; — 
Loved, or had loved them; for at last, grown old, 
His only passion was the love of gold. 

He sold his horses, sold his hawks and hounds. 
Rented his vineyards and his garden-grounds, 



FIFTH YEAR — FIFTH MONTH 125 

Kept but one steed, his favorite steed of all, 
To starve and shiver in a naked stall, 40 

And day by day sat brooding in his chair. 
Devising plans how best to hoard and spare. 

At length he said: "What is the use or need 

To keep at my own cost this lazy steed. 

Eating his head off in my stables here, 45 

When rents are low and provender is dear? 

Let him go feed upon the public ways; 

I want him only for the holidays." 

So the old steed was turned into the heat 

Of the long, lonely, silent, shadeless street; 50 

And wandered in suburban lanes forlorn. 

Barked at by dogs, and torn by brier and thorn. 

One afternoon, as in that sultry clime 

It is the custom in the summer time. 

With bolted doors and window-shutters closed, 55 

The inhabitants of Atri slept or dozed; 

^^'^len suddenly upon their senses fell 

The loud alarum of the accusing bell! 

The Syndic started from his deep repose. 

Turned on his couch, and listened, and then rose 60 

And donned his robes, and with reluctant pace 

Went panting forth into the market-place. 

Where the great bell upon its cross-beam swung 

Reiterating with persistent tongue. 

In half -articulate jargon, the old song: 65 

"Some one hath done a wrong, hath done a wrong!" 

But ere he reached the belfry's light arcade 
He saw, or thought he saw, beneath its shade. 



126 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

No shape of human form of woman born, 

But a poor steed dejected and forlorn, 70 

Who with upHfted head and eager eye 

Was tugging at the vines of briony. 

"Domeneddio!" cried the Syndic straight, 

"This is the Knight of Atri's steed of state! 

He calls for justice, being sore distressed, 75 

And pleads his cause as loudly as the best." 

Meanwhile from street and lane a noisy crowd 

Had rolled together like a summer cloud. 

And told the story of the wretched beast 

In five-and-twenty different ways at least, 80 

With much gesticulation and appeal 

To heathen gods, in their excessive zeal. 

The Knight was called and questioned; in reply 

Did not confess the fact, did not deny; 

Treated the matter as a pleasant jest, 85 

And set at naught the Syndic and the rest. 

Maintaining, in an angry undertone. 

That he should do what pleased him with his own. 

And thereupon the Syndic gravely read 

The proclamation of the King; then said: 90 

"Pride goeth forth on horseback grand and gay, 

But Cometh back on foot, and begs its way; 

Fame is the fragrance of heroic deeds. 

Of flowers of chivalry and not of weeds ! 

These are familiar proverbs; but I fear 95 

They never yet have reached your knightly ear. 

What fair renown, what honor, what repute 

Can come to you from starving this poor brute? 

He who serves well and speaks not, merits more 

Than they who clamor loudest at the door. 100 



\ 



FIFTH YEAR — FIFTH MONTH 127 

Therefore the law decrees that as this steed 
Served you in youth, henceforth you shall take heed 
To comfort his old age, and to provide 
Shelter in stall, and food and field beside." 

The Kiiight withdrew abashed; the people all 105 

Led home the steed in triumph to his stall. 

The King heard and approved, and laughed in glee, 

And cried aloud: "Right well it please th me! 

Church-bells at best but ring us to the door; 

But go not in to mass; my bell doth more: 110 

It Cometh into court and pleads the cause 

Of creatures dumb and unknown to the laws; 

And this shall make, in every Christian clime, 

The Bell of Atri famous for all time." 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 



THE MILLER OF THE DEE 

There dwelt a miller, hale and bold, 

Beside the river Dee; 
He worked and sang from morn till night, 

No lark more blithe than he; 
And this the burden of his song 5 

Forever used to be, — 
"I envy nobody — no, not I, 

And nobody envies me." 

"Thou'rt wrong, my friend," said good King Hal; 

"As wrong as wTong can be; 10 

For could my heart be light as thine, 

I 'd gladly change with thee : 



128 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 



And tell me now, what makes thee sing 

With voice so loud and free. 
While I am sad, though I am king, 15 

Beside the river Dee?" 

The miller smiled and doffed his cap, 

"I earn my bread," quoth he; 
"I love my wife, I love my friend, 

I love my children three; 20 

I owe no penny I cannot pay; 

I thank the river Dee, 
That turns the mill and grinds the corn 

To feed my babes and me." 

"Good friend," said Hal, and sighed the while, 25 

"Farewell, and happy be: 
But say no more, if thou'dst be true. 

That no one envies thee: 
Thy mealy cap is worth my crown; 

Thy mill, my kingdom's fee; 30 

Such men as thou are England's boast, 

O Miller of the Dee!" 

Charles Mackay 

ALADDIN 

When I was a beggarly boy, 

And lived in a cellar damp, 
I had not a friend nor a toy. 

But I had Aladdin's lamp; 
When I could not sleep for the cold, 

I had fire enough in my brain. 
And builded, with roofs of gold. 

My beautiful castles in Spain ! 



FIFTH \T:AR — SIXTH MONTH 139 

Since then I have toiled day and night, 

I have money and power good store, 10 

But I 'd give all my lamps of silver bright 

For the one that is mine no more ; 
Take, Fortune, whatever you choose. 

You gave, and may snatch again; 
I have nothing 't would pain me to lose, 15 

For I own no more castles in Spain ! 

James Russell Lowell 



SIXTH MONTH 

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE 

I 
Half a league, half a league, 
Half a league onward, 
All in the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred. 
"Forward, the Light Brigade! 5 

Charge for the guns!" he said. 
Into the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred. 

II 
"Forward, the Light Brigade!" 
Was there a man dismay 'd.^* 10 

Not tho' the soldier knew 

Some one had blunder'd. 
Theirs not to make reply. 
Theirs not to reason why. 
Theirs but to do and die. 15 



130 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Into the valley of Death 
Rode the six hundred. 



Ill 
Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon in front of them 20 

Volley 'd and thunder'd; 
Storm'd at with shot and shell. 
Boldly they rode and well, 
Into the jaws of Death, 
Into the mouth of hell 25 

Rode the six hundred. 

IV 

Flash 'd all their sabres bare, 

Flash'd as they turn'd in air 

Sabring the gunners there. 

Charging an army, while 30 

All the world wonder'd. 
Plunged in the battery-smoke 
Right thro' the line they broke; 
Cossack and Russian 
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke 35 

Shatter'd and sunder'd. 
Then they rode back, but not. 

Not the six hundred. 

V 

Cannon to right of them. 
Cannon to left of them, 40 

Cannon behind them 
Volley 'd and thunder'd; 



FIFTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 131 

Storm'd at with shot and shell. 
While horse and hero fell, 
They that had fought so well 45 

Came thro' the jaws of Death, 
Back from the mouth of hell, 
All that was left of them, 
Left of six hundred. 

VI 

When can their glory fade? 50 

O the wild charge they made ! 

All the world wonder'd. 
Honor the charge they made! 
Honor the Light Brigade, 

Noble six hundred ! 55 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord : 
He is tramjjiling out the vintage where the grapes of 

wrath are stored; 
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible 

swift sword: 
His truth is marching on. 

I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred cir- 
cling camps; 5 

They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews 
and damps; 

I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flar- 
ing lamps. 
His day is marching on. 



132 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of 

steel : 
"As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my 

grace shall deal; 10 

Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with 

his heel, 
Since God is marching on." 

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call 

retreat; 
He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judg 

ment-seat : 
Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my 

feet! 15 

Our God is marching on. 

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the 

sea. 
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and 

me : 
As he died to make men holy, let us die *to make men 
free. 
While God is marching on. 20 

Julia Ward Howe 

THE NAME OF OLD GLORY 

I 

Old Glory! say, who 

By the ships and the crew. 

And the long, blended ranks of the gray and the 

blue, — 
Who gave you, Old Glory, the name that you bear 



FIFTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 133 

With such pride everywhere 5 

As you cast yourself free to the rapturous air 

And leap out full-length, as we're wanting you to? — 

Whcf gave you that name, with the ring of the same. 

And the honor and fame so becoming to you? — 

Your stripes stroked in ripples of white and of red, 10 

With your stars at their glittering best overhead — 

By day or by night 

Their delightfulest light 

Laughing dowm from their little square heaven of 

blue! 
Who gave you the name of Old Glory? — say, 
who — 15 

Who gave you the name of Old Glory? 

The old banner lifted, and faltering then 

In vague lisps and whispers fell silent again. 

II 

Old Glory, — speak out ! — we are asking about 
How you happened to "favor" a name, so to say, 20 
That sounds so familiar and careless and gay 
As we cheer it and shout in our wild breezy way — 
We — the crowd, every man of us, calling you that — 
We — Tom, Dick, and Harry, each swinging his hat 
And hurrahing "Old Glory!" like you were our kin, 25 
When — Lord ! — we all know we 're as common as 

sin! 
And yet it just seems like you humor us all 
And waft us your thanks, as we hail you and fall 
Into line, with you over us, waving us on 
Where our glorified, sanctified betters have gone. — 30 
And this is the reason we 're wanting to know — 



134 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

(And we 're wanting it so ! — 

Where our own fathers went we are wiUing to go.) — 
Who gave you the name of Old Glory — 0-ho ! — 
Who gave you the name of Old Glory? 35 

The old flag unfurled with a billowy thrill 

For an instant, then wistfully sighed and was still. 

Ill 
Old Glory: the story we're wanting to hear 
Is what the plain facts of your christening were, — 
For your name — just to hear it, 40 

Repeat it, and cheer it, 's a tang to the spirit 
As salt as a tear; — 

And seeing you fly, and the boys marching by, 
There 's a shout in the throat and a blur in the eye 
And an aching to live for you always — or die, 45 
If, dying, we still keep you waving on high. 
And so, by our love 
For you, floating above. 

And the scars of all wars and the sorrows thereof. 
Who gave you the name of Old Glory, and why 50 
Are we thrilled at the name of Old Glory? 

Then the old banner leaped, like a sail in the blast. 
And fluttered an audible answer at last. 

TV 

And it spake, with a shake of the voice, and it said: — 
By the driven snow-white and the living blood-red 55 
Of my bars, and their Heaven of stars overhead — 
By the symbol conjoined of them all, skyward cast. 
As I float from the steeple, or flap at the mast. 



FIFTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 135 

Or droop o'er the sod where the long grasses nod, — 
My name is as old as the glory of God. 60 

So I came by the name of Old Glory. ^ 

James Whitcomb Riley 



THE AMERICAN FLAG 

When Freedom from her mountain height 
Unfurled her standard to the air, 

She tore the azure robe of night. 
And set the stars of glory there. 

She mingl^ with its gorgeous dyes 6 

The milky baldric of the skies. 

And striped its pure celestial white 

,With streakings of the morning light; 

Then from his mansion in the sun 

She called her eagle bearer down, 10 

And gave into his mighty hand 

The symbol of her chosen land. 

Majestic monarch of the cloud. 
Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, 

To hear the tempest trumpings loud 15 

And see the lightning lances driven. 
When strive the warriors of the storm, 

And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven. 

Child of the sun ! to thee 't is given 

To guard the banner of the free, 20 

To hover in the sulphur smoke. 

To ward away the battle stroke, 

^ From the Biographical Edition of the Complete Works of 
James Whitcomb Riley. Copyright, 1913. Used by special permis- 
sion of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company. 



136 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

And bid its blendings shine afar, 
Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 

The harbingers of victory ! 25 

Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly. 

The sign of hope and triumph high. 

When speaks the signal trumpet tone. 

And the long line comes gleaming on. 

Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, 30 

Has dimmed the glistening bayonet. 

Each soldier eye shall brightly turn 

To where thy sky-born glories burn, 

And, as his springing steps advance, 

Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 35 

And when the cannon-mouthings loud 

Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud. 

And gory sabres rise and fall 

Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall. 

Then shall thy meteor glances glow, 40 

And cowering foes shall shrink beneath 

Each gallant arm that strikes below 
That lovely messenger of death. 

Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave 

Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave; 45 

When death, careering on the gale. 

Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 

Ajid frighted waves rush wildly back. 

Before the broadside's reeling rack. 

Each dying wanderer of the sea 50 

Shall look at once to heaven and thee. 

And smile to see thy splendors fly 

In triumph o'er his closing eye. 



FIFTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 137 

Flag of the free heart's hope and home ! 

By angel hands to valor given ; 55 

Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 
, And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
Forever float that standard sheet ! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us, 
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, 60 

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us? 

Joseph Rodman Drake 

SEVENTH MONTH 

PLANT A TREE 

He who plants a tree. 
Plants a hope. 
Rootlets up through fibres blindly grope; 
Leaves unfold into horizons free. 

So man's life must climb 5 

From the clods of time 

Unto heavens sublime. 
Canst thou prophesy, thou little tree. 
What the glory of thy boughs shall be? 

He who plants a tree, 10 

Plants a joy; 
Plants a comfort that will never cloy; 
Every day a fresh reality. 

Beautiful and strong. 

To whose shelter throng 15 

Creatures blithe with song. 
If thou couldst but know, thou happy tree, 
Of the bliss that shall inhabit thee ! 



138 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

He who plants a tree, — f 

He plants peace. 20 

Under its green curtains jargons cease. 
Leaf and zephyr murmur soothingly; 

Shadows soft with sleep 

Down tired eyelids creep, 

Balm of slumber deep. 25 

Never hast thou dreamed, thou blessed tree, 
Of the benediction thou shalt be. 

He who plants a tree, — 
He plants youth; 
Vigor won for centuries in sooth; 30 

Life of time, that hints eternity ! 

Boughs their strength uprear; 

New shoots, every year. 

On old growths appear: 
Thou shalt teach the ages, sturdy tree, 35 

Youth of soul is immortality. 



He who plants a tree, — 
He plants love; 
Tents of coolness spreading out above 
Wayfarers, he may not live to see. 40 

Gifts that grow are best; 

Hands that bless are blest; 

Plant! life does the rest! 
Heaven and earth help him who plants a tree. 
And his work its own reward shall be. 45 

Lucy Larcom 



II 



FIFTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 139 

THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG 

Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet, 
His chestnut steed with four white feet, 

Roushan Beg, called Kurroglou, 
Son of the road and bandit chief. 
Seeking refuge and relief, 5 

Up the mountain pathway flew. 

Such was Kyrat's wondrous speed, 
Never yet could any steed 

Reach the dust-cloud in his course. 
More than maiden, more than wife, 10 

More than gold and next to life 

Roushan the Robber loved his horse. 

In the land that lies beyond 
Erzeroum and Trebizond, 

Garden-girt his fortress stood; 15 

Plundered khan, or caravan 
Journeying north from Koordistan, 

Gave him wealth and wine and food. 

Seven hundred and fourscore 

Men at arms his livery wore, 20 

Did his bidding night and day; 
Now, through regions all unknown. 
He was wandering, lost, alone. 

Seeking without guide his way. 

Suddenly the pathway ends, 25 

Sheer the precipice descends, 
Loud the torrent roars unseen; 



140 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Thirty feet from side to side 
Yawns the chasm; on air must ride 

He who crosses this ravine. 30 

Following close in his pursuit, 
At the precipice's foot 
' Reyhan the Arab of Orfah 

Halted with his hundred men. 
Shouting upward from the glen, 35 

"La Illah ilia Allah!" 

Gently Roushan Beg caressed 
Kyrat's forehead, neck, and breast; 

Kissed him upon both his eyes, 
Sang to him in his wild way, 40 

As upon the topmost spray 

Sings a bird before it flies. 

"O my Kyrat, O my steed. 
Round and slender as a reed. 

Carry me this peril through! 45 

Satin housings shall be thine, 
Shoes of gold, O Kyrat mine, 

O thou soul of Kurroglou ! 

"Soft thy skin as silken skein, 
Soft as woman's hair thy mane, 50 

Tender are thine eyes and true ; 
All thy hoofs like ivory shine, 
Polished bright; O life of mine, 
Leap, and rescue Kurroglou!" 

Kyrat, then, the strong and fleet, 55 

Drew together his four white feet, 



FIFTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 141 

Paused a moment on the verge. 
Measured with his eye the space, 
And into the air's embrace 

Leaped as leaps the ocean surge. 60 

As the ocean surge o'er sand 
Bears a swimmer safe to land, 

Kyrat safe his rider bore; 
Rattling down the deep abyss 
Fragments of the precipice 65 

Rolled like pebbles on a shore. 

Roushan's tasselled cap of red 
Trembled not upon his head. 

Careless sat he and upright; 
Neither hand nor bridle shook, 70 

Nor his head he turned to look. 

As he galloped out of sight. 

Flash of harness in the air. 
Seen a moment like the glare 

Of a sword drawn from its sheath ; 75 
Thus the phantom horseman passed. 
And the shadow that he cast 

Leaped the cataract underneath. 

Reyhan the Arab held his breath 

While this vision of life and death 80 

Passed above him. "AUahu!" 
Cried he. "In all Koordistan 
Lives there not so brave a man 

As this Robber Kurroglou!" 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 



142 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

THE BUGLE SONG ! 

The splendor falls on castle walls 

And snowy summits old in story; 
The long light shakes across the lakes. 
And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 5 

Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 

O, hark, O hear! how thin and clear, 

And thinner, clearer, farther going! 
O, sweet and far from cliff and scar 

The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! 10 

Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying, 
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 

O love, they die in yon rich sky, 
• They faint on hill or field or river; 
Our echoes roll from soul to soul, 15 

And grow forever and forever. 
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying. 
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

EIGHTH MONTH 

THE DAFFODILS 

I WANDERED loucly as a cloud 

That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 

Wlien all at once I saw a crowd, 

A host, of golden daffodils; 

Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 5 

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 



! 



FIFTH ^YEAR — EIGHTH MONTH 143 

Continuous as the stars that shine 

And twinkle on the milky way, 

They stretched in never-ending line 

Along the margin of a bay: 10 

Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 

The waves beside them danced; but they 

Outdid the sparkling waves in glee : 

A poet could not but be gay, 15 

In such a jocund company : 

I gazed, — and gazed, — but little thought 

What wealth the show to me had brought: 

For oft, when on my couch I lie 

In vacant or in pensive mood, 20 

They flash upon that inward eye 

Which is the bliss of solitude; 

And then my heart with pleasure fills. 

And dances with the daffodils. 

William Wordsworth 



THE CLOUD 

I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers. 

From the seas and the streams; 
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid 

In their noonday dreams. 
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken 

The sweet buds every one, 
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, 

As she dances about the sun. 



144 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

I wield the flail of the lashing hail, 

And whiten the green plains under, 10 

And then again I dissolve it in rain. 

And laugh as I pass in thunder. 



I sift the snow on the mountains below, 

And their great pines groan aghast; 
And all the night 't is my pillow white, 15 

While I sleep in the arms of the blast. 
Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers. 

Lightning my pilot sits; 
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder. 

It struggles and howls at fits; 20 

Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion. 

This pilot is guiding me, 
Lured by the love of the genii that move 

In the depths of the purple sea; 
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, 25 

Over the lakes and the plains. 
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, 

The Spirit he loves remains; 
And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, 

Whilst he is dissolving in rains. 30 

The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes. 

And his burning plumes outspread. 
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack. 

When the morning-star shines dead; 
As on the jag of a mountain crag, 35 

Which an earthquake rocks and swings. 
An eagle alit one moment may sit 

In the hght of its golden wings. 



FIFTH YEAR — EIGHTH MONTH 145 

And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea 
beneath. 

Its ardors of rest and of love, 40 

And 'the crimson pall of eve may fall 

From the depth of heaven above. 
With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest, 

As still as a brooding dove. 

That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, 45 

Whom mortals call the moon, 
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor. 

By the midnight breezes strewn; 
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet. 

Which only the angels hear, 50 

May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof. 

The stars peep behind her and peer; 
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, 

Like a swarm of golden bees. 
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, 55 

Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, 
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high. 

Are each paved with the moon and these. 

I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone. 

And the moon's with a girdle of pearl; 60 

The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim. 

When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. 
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape. 

Over a torrent sea, 
Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof, 65 

The mountains its columns be. 
The triumphal arch through which I march, 

With hurricane, fire, and snow. 



146 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, 
Is the milhon-colored bow; 70 

The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove, 

While the moist earth was laughing below. 

I am the daughter of earth and water. 

And the nursling of the sky; 
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; 75 

I change, but I cannot die. 
For after the rain, when with never a stain 

The pavilion of heaven is bare, 
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams, 

Build up the blue dome of air, 80 

I silently laugh at my own cenotaph. 

And out of the caverns of rain, 
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, 
I arise and unbuild it again. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley 



SIXTH YEAR 
FIRST MONTH 

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER 

A CHIEFTAIN to the Highlands bound 
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry! 

And I '11 give thee a silver pound 
To row us o'er the ferry ! " 

— "Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, 5 
This dark and stormy water?" 

— "Oh, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, 
And this. Lord Ullin's daughter. 



SIXTH YEAR — FIRST MONTH 147 

"And fast before her father's men 

Three days we've fled together, 10 

For should he find us in the glen. 
My blood would stain the heather. 

"His horsemen hard behind us ride, — 

Should they our steps discover, 
Then who will cheer my bonny bride 15 

When they have slain her lover?" 

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, 

" I '11 go, my chief, I 'm ready : 
It is not for your silver bright, 

But for your winsome lady: — 20 

"And by my word! the bonny bird 

In danger shall not tarry; 
So though the waves are raging white, 
I'll row youo'er the ferry." 

By this the storm grew loud apace, 25 

The water- wraith was shrieking; 

And in the scowl of heaven each face 
Grew dark as they were speaking. 

But still as wilder blew the wind. 

And as the night grew drearer 30 

Adown the glen rode armed men. 

Their trampling sounded nearer. 

"O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, 
"Though tempests round us gather; 
I '11 meet the raging of the skies, 35 

But not an angry father!" 



148 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

The boat has left a stormy land, 

A stormy sea before her, — 
When, oh, too strong for human hand! 

The tempest gather'd o'er her. 40 

And still they row'd amidst the roar 

Of waters fast prevailing: 
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore, — 

His wrath was changed to wailing. 

For, sore dismay'd, through storm and shade 

His child he did discover: — 
One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid, 

And one was round her lover. 

"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, 
"Across this stormy water, 
And I '11 forgive your Highland chief: — 
My daughter! — O my daughter!" 

'T was vain : the loud waves lash'd the shore, 

Return or aid preventing: 
The waters wild went o'er his child, 55 

And he was left lamenting. 

Thomas Campbell 

THE SKELETON IN ARMOR ^ 

"Speak! speak! thou fearful guest! 
Who, with thy hollow breast 
Still in rude armor drest, 
Comest to daunt me! 

^ "This ballad was suggested to me," says Mr. Longfellow, 
"while riding on the seashore at Newport. A year or two previous 



ft 



SIXTH YEAR — FIEST MONTH 149 

Wrapt not in Eastern balms, 5 

But with thy fleshless palms 
Stretched, as if asking alms. 
Why dost thou haunt me?" 

Then, from those cavernous eyes 

Pale flashes seemed to rise, 10 

As when the Northern skies 

Gleam in December; 
And, like the water's flow 
Under December's snow, 
Came a dull voice of woe 15 

From the heart's chamber. 

"I was a Viking old! 
My deeds, though manifold, 
No Skald in song has told, 

No Saga taught thee ! 20 

a skeleton had been dug up at Fall River, clad in broken and cor- 
roded armor; and the idea occurred to me of connecting it with the 
Round Tower at Newport, generally known hitherto as the Old 
Windmill, though now claimed by the Danes as a work of their early 
ancestors." It is generally conceded now that the Norsemen had 
nothing to do with the old mill at Newport, which is a close copy 
of one standing at Chesterton, in Warwickshire, England. The 
destruction of the armor shortly after it was found has prevented 
any trustworthy examination of it, to see if it was really Scandi- 
navian or only Indian. The poet sings as one haunted by the skele- 
ton, and able to call out its voice. 

5. This old warrior was not embalmed as an Egyptian mummy. 

17. The Vik-ings took their name from an old Norse word, vik, 
still used in Norway, signifying creek, because the sea-pirates made 
their haunts among the indentations of the coast, and sallied out 
thence in search of booty. 

19. The Skald was the Norse chronicler and poet who sang of 
brave deeds at the feasts of the warriors. 

20. The Saga was the saj/itt^ or chronicle of the heroic deeds. There 
are many of these old sagas still preserved in Northern literature, 



150 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Take heed, that in thy verse I 

Thou dost the tale rehearse, ] 

Else dread a dead man's curse; 
For this I sought thee. 

"Far in the Northern Land, 25 

By the wild Baltic's strand, 
I, with my childish hand. 

Tamed the gerfalcon; 
And, with my skates fast-bound. 
Skimmed the haK-frozen Sound, 30 

That the poor whimpering hound 

Trembled to walk on. 

"Oft to his frozen lair 
Tracked I the grisly bear. 
While from my path the hare 35 

Fled like a shadow; 
Oft through the forest dark 
Followed the were-wolf 's bark. 
Until the soaring lark 

Sang from the meadow. 40 

"But when I older grew. 
Joining a corsair's crew, 
O'er the dark sea I flew 

With the marauders. 
Wild was the life we led; 45 

Many the souls that sped, 
Many the hearts that bled, 

By our stern orders. 

38. In the fables of Northern Europe there were said to be men 
who could change themselves into wolves at pleasure, and they 
were called were-wolves. 



SIKTH YEAR — FIRST MONTH 151 

"Many a wassail-bout 
Wore the long winter out; 50 

Often our midnight shout 

Set the cocks crowing, 
As we the Berserk's tale 
Measured in cups of ale. 
Draining the oaken pail, 55 

Filled to o'erflowing. 

"Once as I told in glee 
Tales of the stormy sea. 
Soft eyes did gaze on me. 

Burning, yet tender; 60 

And as the white stars shine 
On the dark Norway pine. 
On that dark heart of mine 
Fell their soft splendor. 

"I wooed the blue-eyed maid, 65 

Yielding, yet half afraid. 
And in the forest's shade 

Our vows were plighted. 
Under its loosened vest 
Fluttered her little breast, 70 

Like birds within their nest 

By the hawk frighted. 

"Bright in her father's hall 
Shields gleamed upon the wall, 

53. There was a famous warrior in the fabulous history of Nor- 
way who went into battle bare of armor (ber — bare; saerke — a 
shirt of mail), but possessed of a terrible rage; he had twelve sons 
like himself, who were also called Berserks or Berserkers, and the 
phrase Berserker rage has come into use to express a terrible fury 
which makes a man fearless and strong. 



152 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Loud sang the minstrels all, 75 { 

Chanting his glory; 
When of old Hildebrand 
I asked his daughter's hand. 
Mute did the minstrels stand 

To hear my story. 80 

"While the brown ale he quaffed, 
Loud then the champion laughed, 
And as the wind-gusts waft 

The sea-foam brightly. 
So the loud laugh of scorn, 85 

Out of those lips unshorn. 
From the deep drinking-horn 

Blew the foam lightly. 

"She was a Prince's child, 
I but a Viking wild, 90 

And though she blushed and smiled, 

I was discarded! 
Should not the dove so white 
Follow the sea-mew's flight. 
Why did they leave that night 95 

Her nest unguarded.? 

"Scarce had I put to sea. 
Bearing the maid with me. 
Fairest of all was she 

Among the Norsemen ! 100 

When on the white sea-strand. 
Waving his armed hand. 
Saw we old Hildebrand, 

With twenty horsemen. 



SIXTH YEAR — FIRST MONTH 153 

"Then launched they to the blast, 105 

Bent like a reed each mast. 
Yet we were gaining fast, 

When the wind failed us; 
And with a sudden flaw 
Came round the gusty Skaw, 110 

So that our foe we saw 

Laugh as he hailed us. 

"And as to catch the gale 
Round veered the flapping sail, 
Death! was the helmsman's hail, 115 

Death without quarter ! 
Mid-ships with iron keel 
Struck we her ribs of steel; 
Down her black hulk did reel 

Through the black water! 120 

"As with his wings aslant, 
Sails the fierce cormorant, 
Seeking some rocky haunt, 

With his prey laden; 
So toward the open main, 125 

Beating to sea again. 
Through the wild hurricane, 
Bore I the maiden. 

"Three weeks we westward bore, 
And when the storm was o'er, 130 

Cloud-like we saw the shore 

Stretching to leeward; 
There for my lady's bower 
Built I the lofty tower, 
110. Skaw: a promontory. The Icelandic word was skagi: cf. 
Skager-Rack. 



154 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Which, to this very hour, 135 | 

Stands looking seaward. 

"There Hved we many years; 
Time dried the maiden's tears; 
She had forgot her fears. 

She was a mother; 140 

Death closed her mild blue eyes, 
Under that tower she lies; 
Ne'er shall the sun arise 
. On such another! 

"Still grew my bosom then, 145 

Still as a stagnant fen! 
Hateful to me were men. 

The sunlight hateful! 
In that vast forest here, 
Clad in my warlike gear, 150 

Fell I upon my spear, 
O, death was grateful! 

"Thus, seamed with many scars. 
Bursting these prison bars, 
Up to its native stars 155 

My soul ascended! 
There from the flowing bowl 
Deep drinks the warrior's soul. 
Skoal! to the Northland! skoal T* 

Thus the tale ended. 160 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 



159. "In Scandinavia," says Mr. Longfellow, "this is the cus- 
tomary salutation when drinking a health. I have slightly changed 
the orthography of the word [skal] in order to preserve the correct 
pronunciation." 



II 



SIXTH YEAR — FIRST MONTH 155 

UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE 

Under the greenwood tree, 
Who loves to lie with me. 
And tune his merry note 
Unto the sweet bird's throat, 
Come hither, come hither, come hither! 5 

Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 

Who doth ambition shun. 
And loves to live i' the sun, 10 

Seeking the food he eats. 
And pleased with what he gets. 
Come hither, come hither, come hither ! 
Here shall he see 

No enemy 15 

But winter and rough weather. 

William Shakespeare 

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI 

"Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, 
Alone and palely loitering? 
The sedge has wither'd from the lake. 
And no birds sing. 

"Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, 5 

So haggard and so woe-begone? 
The squirrel's granary is full. 
And the harvest's done. 



156 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

"I see a lily on thy brow 

With anguish moist and fever-dew, 10 

And on thy cheeks a fading rose 
Fast withereth too." 

"I met a lady in the meads, 

Full beautiful — a faery's child. 
Her hair was long, her foot was light, 15 

And her eyes were wild. 

"I set her on my pacing steed 

And nothing else saw all day long; 
For sideways would she lean, and sing 

A faery's song. 20 

"I made a garland for her head, 

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; 
She look'd at me as she did love, 
And made sweet moan. 

"She found me roots of relish sweet, 25 

And honey wild and manna-dew. 
And sure in language strange she said — 
'I love thee true.' 

" She took me to her elfin grot. 

And there she gaz'd and sigh'd deep, 30 

And there I shut her wild wild eyes — 
So kiss'd to sleep. 

"And there we slumbered on the moss, 

And there I dream'd — ah ! woe betide ! — 
The latest dream I ever dream'd 35 

On the cold hill's side. 



SIXTH YEAR — SECOND MONTH 157 

"I saw pale kings and princes too. 

Pale warriors, death -pale were they all: 
They cried — 'La belle Dame sans Merci 

Hath thee in thrall ! ' 40 

"I saw their starved lips in the gloam 
With horrid warning gaped wide, 
And I awoke, and found me here 
On the cold hill's side. 

"And this is why I sojom-n here 45 

Alone and palely loitering. 
Though the sedge is withered from the lake. 
And no birds sing." 

John Keats 



SECOND MONTH 

MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS 

My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; 
My heart 's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; 
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe — 
My heart 's in the Highlands wherever I go. 

Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, 5 
The birthplace of valor, the country of worth ; 
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove. 
The hills of the Highlands forever I love. 

Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow; 
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below; 10 
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods; 
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. 



158 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; 
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe — 15 
My heart 's in the Highlands wherever I go. 

Robert Burns 



HIE AWAY 

Hie away, hie away. 

Over bank and over brae. 

Where the copsewood is the greenest, 

Where the fountains glisten sheenest. 

Where the lady-fern grows strongest, 5 

Where the morning dew lies longest, 

Where the black-cock sweetest sips it. 

Where the fairy latest trips it: 

Hie to haunts right seldom seen, 

Lovely, lonesome, cool, and green, 10 

Over bank and over brae, 

Hie away, hie away. 

Sir Walter Scott 

YOUNG LOCHINVAR 

Oh ! young Lochinvar is come out of the west. 
Through all the wide border his steed was the best; 
And save his good broadsword, he weapons had none; 
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. 
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 5 

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 

He stay'd not for brake and he stopped not for stone, 
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none; 



SIXTH YEAR — SECOND MONTH 159 

But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 

The bride had consented, the gallant came late: 10 

For a laggard in love and a dastard in war 

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, 

Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and 

all: 
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his 

sword, — 15 

For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word, — 
"Oh! come ye in peace here, or come ye in war. 
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?" — 

"I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied; 
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide — 
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, 21 
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." 

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up, 25 
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. 
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh. 
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye. 
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — 
"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar. 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 31 

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 
While her mother did fret and her father did fume, 
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and 
plume; 



160 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

And the bride-maidens whispered, " 'T were better by 
far 35 

To have matched om" fair cousin with yomig Lochin- 
var." 

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, 
When they reached the hall door, and the charger 

stood near; 
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung. 
So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 40 

"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; 
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young 

Lochinvar. 

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby 

clan; 
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and 

they ran: 
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, 45 
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war. 
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? 

Sir Walter Scott 



HIAWATHA'S CHILDHOOD 

SELECTION 

By the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
By the shining Big-Sea- Water, 
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis, 
Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis. 
Dark behind it rose the forest. 
Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees. 



fl 



SIXTH \TAR — SECOND MONTH 161 

Rose the firs with cones upon them; 

Bright before it beat the water, 

Beat the clear and sunny water, 

Beat the shining Big-Sea- Water. 10 

There the wi'inkled old Nokomis 

Nursed the little Hiawatha, 

Rocked him in his linden cradle. 

Bedded soft in moss and rushes. 

Safely bound with reindeer sinews; 15 

Stilled his fretful wail by saying, 

"Hush! the Naked Bear will hear thee! ' 

Lulled him into slumber, singing, 

"Ewa-yea! my little owlet! 

Who is this that lights the wigwam? 20 

With his great eyes lights the wigwam? 

Ewa-yea! my little owlet!" 

Many things Nokomis taught him 

Of the stars that shine in heaven; 

Showed him Ishkoodah, the comet, 25 

Ishkoodah, with fiery tresses; 

Showed the Death-Dance of the spirits, 

Warriors with their plumes and war-clubs. 

Flaring far away to northward 

In the frosty nights of winter; 30 

Showed the broad, white road in heaven, 

Pathway of the ghosts, the shadows. 

Running straight across the heavens. 

Crowded with the ghosts, the shadows. 

At the door, on summer evenings, 35 

Sat the little Hiawatha; 

Heard the whispering of the pine-trees. 

Heard the lapping of the water. 

Sounds of music, words of wonder; 



162 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

"Minnie-wawa!" said the pine-trees, 40 

"Mudway-aushka!" said the water; 

Saw the fire-fly, Wah-wah-taysee, 

Flitting through the dusk of evening. 

With the twinkle of its candle 

Lighting up the brakes and bushes, 45 

And he sang the song of children. 

Sang the song Nokomis taught him: 

"Wah-wah-taysee, little fire-fly. 

Little, flitting, white-fire insect. 

Little, dancing, white-fire creature, 50 

Light me with your little candle, 

Ere upon my bed I lay me. 

Ere in sleep I close my eyelids ! " 

Saw the moon rise from the water 

Rippling, rounding from the water, 55 

Saw the flecks and shadows on it, • 

Whispered, "What is that, Nokomis?" 

And the good Nokomis answered: 

"Once a warrior, very angry. 

Seized his grandmother, and threw her 60 

Up into the sky at midnight; 

Right against the moon he threw her; 

'T is her body that you see there." 

Saw the rainbow in the heaven, 

In the eastern sky, the rainbow, 65 

Whispered, "What is that, Nokomis?" 

And the good Nokomis answered: 

" 'T is the heaven of flowers you see there; 

All the wild-flowers of the forest. 

All the lilies of the prairie, 70 

When on earth they fade and perish. 

Blossom in that heaven above us." 



SIXTH YEAR — THIRD MONTH 163 

When he heard the owls at midnight. 
Hooting, laughing in the forest, 
"What is that? " he cried, in terror; 75 

"What is that," he said, "Nokomis?" 
And the good Nokomis answered: 
"That is but the owl and owlet. 
Talking in their native language. 
Talking, scolding at each other." 80 

Then the little Hiawatha 
Learned of every bird its language. 
Learned their names and all their secrets. 
How they built their nests in summer, 
Where they hid themselves in winter, 85 

Talked with them whene'er he met them, 
Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens." 
Of all beasts he learned the language. 
Learned their names and all their secrets. 
How the beavers built their lodges, 90 

Where the squirrels hid their acorns. 
How the reindeer ran so swiftly. 
Why the rabbit was so timid, 
Talked with them whene'er he met them. 
Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers." 95 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

THIRD MONTH 

ALLEN-A-DALE 

Allen- A-D ALE has no fagot for burning, 
Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning, 
AUen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning, 
Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning. 



164 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Come, read me my riddle ! come, hearken my tale ! 5 
And tell me the craft of bold AUen-a-Dale. 

The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride. 
And he views his domains upon Arkindale side, 
The mere for his net, and the land for his game. 
The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame; 10 
Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale, 
Are less free to Lord Dacre than AUen-a-Dale ! 

Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight. 

Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as 

bright : 
Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord, 15 

Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word; 
And the best of om- nobles his bonnet will veil 
Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore meets Allen-a-Dale. 

Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come ; 

The mother, she asked of his household and home : 20 

"Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on the 

hill. 
My hall," quoth bold Allen, "shows gallanter still; 
'T is the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent so pale, 
And with all its bright spangles," said Allen-a-Dale. 

The father was steel, and the mother was stone; 25 
They lifted the latch, and they bade him be gone; 
But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their cry : 
He had laughed on the lass with his bonny black eye; 
And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale. 
And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale ! 30 

Sir Walter Scott 



SIXTH YEAR — THIRD MONTH 165 

SONG OF THE ELFIN MILLER 

Full merrily rings the millstone romid, 

Full merrily rings the wheel. 
Full merrily gushes out the grist — 

Come, taste my fragrant meal! 
As sends the lift its snowy drift, 5 

So the meal comes in a shower; 
Work, fairies, fast, for time flies past — 

I borrowed the mill an hour. 

The miller he's a worldly man. 

An' maun hae double fee; 10 

So draw the sluice of the churl's dam, 

And let the stream come free. 
Shout, fairies, shout! see, gushing out, 

The meal comes like a river : 
The top of the grain on hill and plain 15 

Is ours, and shall be ever. 

One elf goes chasing the wild bat's wing 

And one the white owl's horn; 
One hunts the fox for the white o' his tail. 

And we winna hae him till morn. 20 

One idle fay, with the glow-worm's ray, 

Runs glimmering 'mong the mosses: 
Another goes tramp wi' the will-o'-wisp's lamp, 

To light a lad to the lasses. 

O haste, my brown elf, bring me com 25 

From Bonnie Blackwood plains; 
Go, gentle fairy, bring me grain 

From green Dalgona mains; 



166 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

But, pride of a' at Closeburn ha', 

Fair is the corn and fatter; 30 

Taste, fairies, taste, a gallanter grist 

Has never been wet with water. 

Hilloah! my hopper is heaped high; 

Hark to the well-hung wheels! 
They sing for joy; the dusty roof 35 

It clatters and it reels. 
Haste, elves, and turn yon mountain burn — 

Bring streams that shine like siller; 
The dam is down, the moon sinks soon, 

And I maun grind my miller. 40 

Ha ! bravely done, my wanton elves. 

That is a foaming stream: 
See how the dust from the mill flies. 

And chokes the cold moon-beam. 
Haste, fairies, fleet come baptized feet, 45 

Come sack and sweep up clean. 
And meet me soon, ere sinks the moon, 

In thy green vale, Dalreen. 

Allan Cunningham 

THE LEAK IN THE DIKE 

A STORY OF HOLLAND 

The good dame looked from her cottage 
At the close of the pleasant day, 

And cheerily called to her little son 
Outside the door at play: 

"Come, Peter, come! I want you to go, 5 

While there is light to see. 



SIXTH YEAR — THIRD MONTH 167 

To the hut of the bHnd old man who Hves 

Across the dike, for me; 
And take these cakes I made for him — 

They are hot and smoking yet; 10 

You have time enough to go and come 

Before the sun is set." 



Then the good-wife turned to her labor 

Humming a simple song. 
And thought of her husband, working hard 15 

At the sluices all day long; 
And set the turf a-blazing. 

And brought the coarse black bread; 
That he might find a fire at night, 

And find the table spread. 20 

And Peter left the brother. 

With whom all day he had played. 
And the sister who had watched their sports 

In the willow's tender shade; 
And told them they 'd see him back before 25 

They saw a star in sight, 
Though he would n't be afraid to go 

In the very darkest night ! 
For he was a brave, bright fellow, 

With eye and conscience clear; 30 

He could do whatever a boy might do, 

And he had not learned to fear. 
Why, he would n't have robbed a bird's nest, 

Nor brought a stork to harm, 
Though never a law in Holland 35 

Had stood to stay his arm ! 



168 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

And now, with his face all glowing, 

And eyes as bright as the day 
With the thoughts of his pleasant errand, 

He trudged along the way; 40 

And soon his joyous prattle 

Made glad a lonesome place — 
Alas ! if only the blind old man 

Could have seen that happy face ! 
Yet he somehow caught the brightness 45 

Which his voice and presence lent; 
And he felt the sunshine come and go 

As Peter came and went. 

And now, as the day was sinking, 

And the winds began to rise, 50 

The mother looked from her door again, 

Shadiag her anxious eyes; 
And saw the shadows deepen 

And birds to their homes come back, 
But never a sign of Peter 55 

Along the level track. 
But she said: "He will come at morning, 

So I need not fret or grieve — 
Though it is n't like my boy at all 

To stay without my leave." 60 

But where was the child delaying.? 

On the homeward way was he, 
And across the dike while the sun was up 

An hour above the sea. 
He was stopping now to gather flowers, 65 

Now listening to the sound, 
As the angry waters dashed themselves 

Against their narrow bound. 



SIXTH YEAR — THIRD MONTH 169 

"Ah! well for us," said Peter, 

"That the gates are good and strong, 70 

And my father tends them carefully. 

Or they would not hold you long ! 
You're a wicked sea," said Peter; 

"I know why you fret and chafe; 
You would like to spoil our lands and homes; 75 

But our sluices keep you safe ! " 

But hark ! Through the noise of waters 

Comes a low, clear, trickling sound; 
And the child's face pales with terror. 

And his blossoms drop to the ground. 80 

He is up the bank in a moment. 

And, stealing through the sand. 
He sees a stream not yet so large 

As his slender, childish hand. 
*T is a leak in the dike! He is but a boy, 85 

Unused to fearful scenes; 
But, young as he is, he has learned to know, 

The dreadful thing that means. 
A leak in the dike I The stoutest heart 

Grows faint that cry to hear, 90 

And the bravest man in all the land 

Turns white with mortal fear. 
For he knows the smallest leak may grow 

To a flood in a single night ; 
And he knows the strength of the cruel sea 95 

When loosed in its angry might. 

And the boy ! He has seen the danger, 

And, shouting a wild alarm. 
He forces back the weight of the sea 

With the strength of his single arm ! 100 



170 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

He listens for the joyful sound 

Of a footstep passing nigh; 
And lays his ear to the ground, to catch 

The answer to his cry. 
And he hears the rough winds blowing, 105 

And the waters rise and fall, 
But never an answer comes to him, 

Save the echo of his call. 
He sees no hope, no succor. 

His feeble voice is lost; 110 

Yet what shall he do but watch and wait. 

Though he perish at his post! 

So, faintly calling and crying 

Till the sun is under the sea; 
Crying and moaning till the stars 115 

Come out for company; 
He thinks of his brother and sister. 

Asleep in their safe warm bed; 
He thinks of his father and mother. 

Of himself as dying — and dead: 120 

And of how, when the night is over. 

They must come and find him at last : 
But he never thinks he can leave the place 

Where duty holds him fast. 

The good dame in the cottage 125 

Is up and astir with the light. 
For the thought of her little Peter 

Has been with her all night. 
And now she watches the pathway, 

Asyestereve she had done; 130 



SIXTH YEAR — THIRD MONTH 171 

But what does she see so strange and black 

Against the rising sun? 
Her neighbors are bearing between them 

Something straight to her door; 
Her child is coming home, but not 135 

As he ever came before ! 

"He is dead!" she cries; "my darling!" 

And the startled father, hears. 
And comes and looks the way she looks, 

And fears the thing she fears : 140 

Till a glad shout from the bearers 

Thrills the stricken man and wife — 
" Give thanks, for your son has saved our land. 

And God has saved his life!" 
So, there in the morning sunshine 145 

They knelt about the boy; 
And every head was bared and bent 

In tearful, reverent joy. 

'T is many a year since then; but still, 

When the sea roars like a flood, 150 

Their boys are taught what a boy can do 

Who is brave and true and good. 
For every man in that country 

Takes his son by the hand. 
And tells him of little Peter, 155 

WTiose courage saved the land. 

They have many a valiant hero. 

Remembered through the years: 

But never one whose name so oft 

Is named with loving tears. 160 



172 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

And his deed shall be sung by the cradle. 
And told to the child on the knee, 

So long as the dikes of Holland 
Divide the land from the sea ! 

Phoebe Gary 

FOURTH MONTH 

CHRISTMASTIDE 

Christmas time is a time of cold. 

Of weathers bleak and of winds a-blow; 

Never a flower — fold on fold 

Of grace and beauty — tops the snow 

Or breaks the black and bitter mold. 6 

And yet 't is warm — for the chill and gloom 
Glow with love and with childhood's glee; 

And yet 't is sweet — with the rich perfume 
Of sacrifice and of charity. 

Where are flowers more fair to see? 10 

Christmas tide, it is warm and sweet; 
A whole world's heart at a Baby's feet! 

Richard Burton 

GOD REST YOU MERRY, GENTLEMEN 

God rest you merry, gentlemen, 

Let nothing you dismay. 
For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, 

Was born upon this day; 
To save us all from Satan's power, 5 

When we were gone astray. 



SIXTH YEAR — FOURTH MONTH 173 

O tidings of comfort and joy, 
For Jesus Christ our Saviour 
was born on Christmas Day. 

In Bethlehem in Jewry 10 

This blessed babe was born, 
And laid within a manger 

Upon this blessed morn; 
The which His mother Mary 

Nothing did take in scorn. 15 

O tidings of comfort and joy, — 

From God, our Heavenly Father, 

A blessed Angel came. 
And, unto certain shepherds. 

Brought tidings of the same; 20 

How, that in Bethlehem was born 

The Son of God by name. 

O tidings of comfort and joy, — 

The Shepherds at those tidings. 

Rejoiced much in mind, 25 

And left their flocks a-feeding 

In tempest, storm, and wind. 
And went to Bethlehem straightway. 

This blessed Babe to find. 

O tidings of comfort and joy, — 30 

But when to Bethlehem they came, 
Where as this Infant lay. 



174 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

They found him in a manger 

Where oxen feed on hay, 
His mother Mary kneehng 35 

Unto the Lord did pray. 

O tidings of comfort and joy, — 

Now to the Lord sing praises 

All you within this place, 
And with true love and brotherhood 40 

Each other now embrace. 
This holy tide of Christmas 

All others doth deface. 

O tidings of comfort and joy, 
For Jesus Christ our Saviour 45 

was born on Christmas Day. 

Old English Song 

ROSABELLE 

Oh, listen, listen, ladies gay! 

No haughty feat of arms I tell; 
Soft is the note, and sad the lay 

That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. 

"Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew, 5 

And, gentle lady, deign to stay ! 
Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, 
Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. 

"The blackening wave is edged with white; 

To inch and rock the sea-mews fly; 10 



SIXTH YEAR — FOURTH MONTH 175 

The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, 
Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh. 

*'Last night the gifted Seer did view 

A wet shroud swathed round lady gay; 
Then stay thee. Fair, in Ravensheuch; 15 

Why cross the gloomy firth to-day? " 

" 'T is not because Lord Lindesay's heir 
To-night at Roslin leads the ball; 
But that my lady mother there 

Sits lonely in her castle hall. 20 

" 'T is not because the ring they ride, 
And Lindesay at the ring rides well. 
But that my sire the wine will chide 
If 't is not filled by Rosabelle." 

O'er Roslin all that weary night 25 

A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam; 

'T was broader than the watch-fire's light. 
And redder than the bright moonbeam. 

It glared on Roslin 's castled rock, 

It ruddied all the copse-wood glen; 30 

'T was seen from Dryden's groves of oak. 

And seen from caverned Hawthornden. 

Seemed all on fire that chapel proud, 
Where Roslin's chiefs uncojffined lie. 

Each Baron, for a sable shroud, 35 

Sheathed in his iron panoply. 



176 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Seemed all on fire within, around. 

Deep sacristy and altar's pale; 
Shone every pillar foliage-bound, 

And glimmered all the dead men's mail. 40 

Blazed battlement and pinnet high. 

Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair — 

So still they blaze, when fate is nigh 
The lordly line of high Saint Clair. 

There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold 45 

Lie buried within that proud chapelle; 

Each one the holy vault doth hold, — 
But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle ! 

And each Saint Clair was buried there 

With candle, with book, and with knell; 50 

But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung 
The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. 

Sir Walter Scott 



ANNAN WATER 

Annan Water's wading deep. 

And my Love Annie's wondrous bonny; 
And I am loath she should wet her feet, 

Because I love her best of ony. 

He's loupen on his bonny gray. 

He rode the right gate and the ready; 

For all the storm he wadna stay. 
For seeking of his bonny lady. 



SIXTH YEAR — FOURTH MONTH 177 

And he has ridden o'er field and fell, 

Through moor, and moss, and many a mire; 10 
His spurs of steel were sair to bide, 

'And from her four feet flew the fire. 

"My bonny gray, now play your part! 
If ye be the steed that wins my dearie. 
With corn and hay ye '11 be fed for aye, 15 

And never spur shall make you wearie." 

The gray was a mare, and a right gude mare; 

But when she wan the Annan Water, 
She could not have ridden the ford that night 

Had a thousand merks been wadded at her. 20 

"O boatman, boatman, put off your boat, 
Put off your boat for golden money ! " 
But for all the gold in fair Scotland, 

He dared not take him through to Annie. 

"Oh, I was sworn so late yestreen, 25 

Not by a single oath, but mony ! 
I '11 cross the drumly stream to-night, 
Or never could I face my honey." 

The side was stey, and the bottom deep. 

From bank to brae the water pouring; 30 

The bonny gray mare she swat for fear. 
For she heard the water-kelpy roaring. 

He spurred her forth into the flood, 

I wot she swam both strong and steady; 
But the stream was broad, and her strength did fail, 

And he never saw his bonny lady ! 36 

Unknown 



178 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 
FIFTH MONTH 
SELECTIONS FROM SNOW-BOUND 

THE STORM 

Unw ARMED by any sunset light 

The gray day darkened into night, 

A night made hoary with the swarm 

And whirl-dance of the blinding storm. 

As zigzag wavering to and fro 5 

Crossed and recrossed the winged snow: 

And ere the early bedtime came 

The white drift piled the window-frame. 

And through the glass the clothes-line posts 

Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. 10 

So all night long the storm roared on : 

The morning broke without a sun ; 

In tiny spherule traced with lines 

Of Nature's geometric signs. 

In starry flake and pellicle 15 

All day the hoary meteor fell; 

And, when the second morning shone. 

We looked upon a world unknown, 

On nothing we could call our own. 

Around the glistening wondpr bent 20 

The blue walls of the firmament, 

No cloud above, no earth below, — 

A universe of sky and snow! 

The old familiar sights of ours 

Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers 25 

Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood. 

Or garden- wall or belt of wood; 






I 



SIXTH YEAR — FIFTH MONTH 179 

A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, 

A fenceless drift what once was road; 

The bridle-post an old man sat 30 

With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; 

The well -curb had a Chinese roof; 

And even the long sweep, high aloof. 

In its slant splendor, seemed to tell 

Of Pisa's leaning miracle. 35 

THE KITCHEN SCENE 

As night drew on, and, from the crest 
Of wooded knolls that ridged the west, 
J The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank 
f From sight beneath the smothering bank, 

We piled with care our nightly stack 6 

Of wood against the chimney-back, — 

The oaken log, green, huge, and thick, 

And on its top the stout back-stick; 

The knotty forestick laid apart. 

And filled between with curious art 10 

The ragged brush ; then, hovering near. 

We watched the first red blaze appear. 

Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam 

On whitewashed wall and sagging beam, 

Until the old, rude-furnished room 15 

Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom; 

S5. The Leaning Tower of Pisa, in Italy, which inclines from the 
perpendicular a little more than six feet in eighty, is a campanile, 
or bell-tower, built of white marble, very beautiful, but so famous 
for its singular deflection from perpendicularity as to be known 
almost wholly as a curiosity. Opinions differ as to the leaning being 
the result of accident or design, but the better judgment makes it 
an effect of the character of the soil on which the town is built. The 
Cathedral to which it belongs has suffered so much from a similar 
cause that there is not a vertical line in it. 



180 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

While radiant with a mimic flame 

Outside the sparkUng drift became, 

And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree 

Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free. 20 

The crane and pendent trammels showed, 

The Turk's heads on the andirons glowed; 

While childish fancy, prompt to tell 

The meaning of the miracle, 

Whispered the old rhyme: " Under the tree, 25 

When fire outdoors hums merrily. 

There the witches are making tea." 

The moon above the eastern wood 
Shone at its full; the hill-range stood 
Transfigured in the silver flood, 30 

Its blown snows flashing cold and keen, 
Dead white, save where some sharp ravine 
Took shadow, or the sombre green 
Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black 
Against the whiteness of their back. 35 

For such a world and such a night 
Most fitting that unwarming light, 
Which only seemed where'er it fell 
To make the coldness visible. 

Shut in from all the world without, 40 

We sat the clean-winged hearth about. 

Content to let the north-wind roar 

In bafiled rage at pane and door. 

While the red logs before us beat 

The frost-line back with tropic heat; 45 

And ever, when a louder blast 

Shook beam and rafter as it passed, 



II 



SIXTH YEAR — FIFTH MONTH 181 

The merrier up its roaring draught 

The great throat of the chimney laughed; 

The house-dog on his paws outspread 50 

Laid to the fire his drowsy head, 

The cat's dark silhouette on the wall 

A couchant tiger's seemed to fall ; 

And, for the winter fireside meet. 

Between the andirons' straddling feet, 55 

The mug of cider simmered slow. 

The apples sputtered in a row. 

And, close at hand, the basket stood, 

With nuts from brown October's wood. 



THE MOTHER 

Our mother, while she turned her wheel 

Or run the new-knit stocking-heel. 

Told how the Indian hordes came down 

At midnight on Cocheco town, 

And how her own great-uncle bore 5 

His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore. 

Recalling, in her fitting phrase. 

So rich and picturesque and free, 

(The common unrhymed poetry 
Of simple life and country ways,) 10 

The story of her early days, — 
She made us welcome to her home; 
Old hearths grew wide to give us room; 
We stole with her a frightened look 
At the gray wizard's conjuring-book, 15 

The fame whereof went far and wide 
Through all the simple country-side; 

4. Dover in New Hampshire. 



182 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

We heard the hawks at twilight play, 

The boat-horn on Piscataqua, 

The loon's weird laughter far away; 20 

We fished her little trout-brook, knew 

What flowers in wood and meadow grew, 

What sunny hillsides autumn-brown 

She climbed to shake the ripe nuts down, 

Saw where in sheltered cove and bay 25 

The ducks' black squadron anchored lay, 

And heard the wild geese calling loud 

Beneath the gray November cloud. 

THE SISTERS 

There, too, our elder sister plied 
Her evening task the stand beside; 
A full, rich nature, free to trust. 
Truthful and almost sternly just, 
Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act, 6 

And make her generous thought a fact. 
Keeping with many a slight disguise 
The secret of self-sacrifice. 
O heart sore-tried ! thou hast the best 
That Heaven itself could give thee, — rest, 10 
Rest from all bitter thoughts and things ! 
How many a poor one's blessing went 
With thee beneath the low green tent 
Whose curtain never outward swings ! 

As one who held herself a part 15 

Of all she saw, and let her heart 

Against the household bosom lean. 
Upon the motley-braided mat 
Our youngest and our dearest sat, 



SIXTH YEAR — FIFTH MONTH 183 

Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes, 20 

Now bathed in the unfading green 

And holy peace of Paradise. 

Oh, looking from some heavenly hill. 
Or from the shade of saintly palms, 
Or silver reach of river calms, 25 

Do those large eyes behold me still? 

With me one little year ago : — 

The chill weight of the winter snow 
For months upon her grave has lain; 

And now, when summer south-winds blow 30 
And brier and harebell bloom again, 

I tread the pleasant paths we trod, 

I see the violet-sprinkled sod 

Whereon she leaned, too frail and weak. 

The hillside flowers she loved to seek, 35 

Yet following me where'er I went 

With dark eyes full of love's content. 

The birds are glad; the brier-rose fills 

The air with sweetness; all the hills 

Stretch green to June's unclouded sky; 40 

But still I wait with ear and eye 

For something gone which should be nigh, 

A loss in all familiar things. 

In flower that blooms, and bird that sings. 

And yet, dear heart ! remembering thee, 45 

Am I not richer than of old.'* 

THE SCHOOLMASTER 

Brisk wielder of the birch and rule. 
The master of the district school 
Held at the fire his favorite place. 
Its warm glow lit a laughing face 



184 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Fresh-hued and fair, where scarce appeared 5 

The uncertain prophecy of beard. 

He teased the mitten-bhnded cat, 

Played cross-pins on my uncle's hat, 

Sang songs, and told us what befalls 

In classic Dartmouth's college halls. 10 

Born the wild Northern hills among. 

From whence his yeoman father wrung 

By patient toil subsistence scant. 

Not competence and yet not want. 

He early gained the power to pay 15 

His cheerful, self-reliant way; 

Could doff at ease his scholar's gown 

To peddle wares from town to town; 

Or through the long vacation's reach 

In lonely lowland districts teach, 20 

Where all the droll experience found 

At stranger hearths in boarding round, 

The moonlit skater's keen delight. 

The sleigh-drive through the frosty night, 

The rustic party, with its rough 25 

Accompaniment of blind-man's-buff. 

And whirling-plate, and forfeits paid. 

His winter task a pastime made. 

Happy the snow-locked homes wherein 

He tuned his merry violin, 30 

Or played the athlete in the barn. 

Or held the good dame's winding-yarn, 

Or mirth-provoking versions told 

Of classic legends rare and old. 

Wherein the scenes of Greece and Rome 35 

Had all the commonplace of home. 



SIXTH YEAR — FIFTH MONTH 185 

And little seemed at best the odds 

'Twixt Yankee pedlers and old gods; 

Where Pindus-born Arachthus took 

The guise of any grist-mill brook, 40 

And dread Olympus at his will 

Became a huckleberry hill. 

A careless boy that night he seemed; 
But at his desk he had the look 

And air of one who wisely schemed, 45 

And hostage from the future took 
In trained thought and lore of book. 

Large-brained, clear-eyed, of such as he 

Shall Freedom's young apostles be. 

Who, following in War's bloody trail, 50 

Shall every lingering wrong assail; 

All chains from limb and spirit strike, 

Uplift the black and white alike; 

Scatter before their swift advance 

The darkness and the ignorance, 55 

The pride, the lust, the squalid sloth, 

Which nurtured Treason's monstrous growth, 

Made murder pastime, and the hell 

Of prison-torture possible; 

The cruel lie of caste refute, 60 

Old forms remould, and substitute 

For Slavery's lash the freeman's will. 

For blind routine, wise-handed skill; 

A school-house plant on every hill, 

Stretching in radiate nerve-lines thence 65 

The quick wires of intelligence; 

Till North and South together brought 

Shall own the same electric thought. 



186 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE ^ 

In peace a common flag salute, 

And, side by side in labor's free 70 

And unresentful rivalry, 

Harvest the fields wherein they fought. 

John Greenleaf Whittier 

TO-DAY 

Here hath been dawning 

Another blue day; 
Think, wilt thou let it 

Slip useless away. 

Out of Eternity 5 

This new day was born; 

Into Eternity 

At night, will return. 

Behold it aforetime 

No eye ever did; 10 

So soon it forever 

From all eyes is hid. 

Here hath been dawning 

Another blue day: 
Think, wilt thou let it 15 

Slip useless away. 

Thomas Carlyle 

ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET 

The poetry of earth is never dead : 

When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, 
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run 

From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead; 



I 



SIXTH YEAR — FIFTH MONTH 187 

That is the Grasshopper's — he takes the lead 5 

In summer luxury, — he has never done 
With his delights; for when tired out with fun, 
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. 
The poetry of earth is ceasing never : 

On a lone winter evening, when the frost 10 

Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills 
The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever, 
And seems to one, in drowsiness half lost. 
The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills. 

John Keats 

YOU ARE OLD, FATHER WILLIAM 

"You are old, father William," the young man said, 
"And your hair has become very white; 

And yet you incessantly stand on your head — 
Do you think, at your age, it is right.'* " 

" In my youth," father William replied to his son, 5 

"I feared it might injure the brain; 
But now that I 'm perfectly sure I have none. 

Why, I do it again and again." 

" You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before, 
And have grown most uncommonly fat; 10 

Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door — 
Pray, what is the reason of that.!^ " 

"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his gray 
locks, 

" I kept all my limbs very supple 
By the use of this ointment — one shilling the box — 15 

Allow me to sell you a couple." 



188 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

"You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too •; 
weak 
For anything tougher than suet; 
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the 
beak: 
Pray, how did you manage to do it?" 20 

"In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law, 

And argued each case with my wife; 
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw. 

Has lasted the rest of my life." 

"You are old," said the youth; "one would hardly 
suppose 25 

That your eye was as steady as ever; 
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose — 

What made you so a^vfully clever? " 

"I have answered three questions, and that is enough," 
Said his father; " don't give yourself airs ! 30 

Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff? 
Be off, or I '11 kick you down stairs ! " 

Lewis Carroll 

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN 

I 

"Why weep ye by the tide, ladie? 

Why weep ye by the tide? 

I '11 wed ye to my youngest son, 

And ye sail be his bride: 
And ye sail be his bride, ladie. 



SIXTH YEAR — FIFTH MONTH 189 

Sae comely to be seen " — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
For Jock of Hazeldean. 

II 
"Now let this wilfu' grief be done, 

And dry that cheek so pale; 10 

Young Frank is chief of Errington, 

And lord of Langley-dale; 
His step is first in peaceful ha', 
His sword in battle keen" — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 15 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

Ill 
"A chain of gold ye sail not lack. 
Nor braid to bind your hair; 
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, 

Nor palfrey fresh and fair; 20 

And you, the foremost o' them a'. 
Shall ride our forest queen" — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
For Jock of Hazeldean. 

IV 

The kirk was decked at morning-tide, 25 

The tapers glimmered fair; 
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride. 

And dame and knight are there; 
They sought her baith by bower and ha' — 

The ladie was not seen ! 30 

She 's o'er the border, and awa' 

Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. 

Sir Walter Scott 



190 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

THE LASS OF LOCHROYAN 

"Oh, who will shoe my bonny foot, 
And who will glove my hand? 
And who will lace my middle jimp 
Wi' a long, long, linen band? 

"Or who will kaim my yellow hair 5 

Wi' a new-made silver kaim? 
Oh, who will father my young son 
Till Lord Gregory comes hame? 

"Oh, if I had a bonny ship. 

And men to sail wi' me, 10 

It's I would gang to my true Love, 
Since he winna come to me ! " 

Then she 's gar'd build a bonny boat. 

To sail the salt, salt sea : 
The sails were of the light-green silk, 15 

And the ropes of taflfetie. 

She had not been on the sea sailing 

About a month or more. 
Till landed has she her bonny ship 

Near to her true Love's door. 20 

She 's ta'en her young son in her arms. 

And to the door she's gane; 
And long she knocked, and sair she called, 

But answer got she nane. 



SIXTH YEAR — FIFTH MONTH 191 

"Oh, open the door, Lord Gregory! 25 

Oh, open, and let me in! 
For the wind blows through my yellow hair. 
And the rain drops o'er my chin." 

Long stood she at Lord Gregory's door, 
And long she tirled the pin; 30 

At length up gat his false mother. 
Says, "Who's that, would be in?" 

"Oh, it's Annie of Lochroyan, 
Your Love, come o'er the sea. 
But and your young son in her arms; 35 

So open the door to me." 

"Away, away, ye ill woman! 

You 're not come here for gude; 
You're but a witch, or a vile warlock. 

Or a mermaid o' the flood." 40, 

"I 'm no a witch, nor vile warlock. 

Nor mermaiden," said she; 
"But I am Annie of Lochroyan, — 

Oh, open the door to me!" 

" If thou be Annie of Lochroyan, 45 

(As I trow ye binna she). 
Now tell me some of the love-tokens 
That passed 'tween me and thee." 

"Oh, dinna ye mind, Lord Gregory, 

As we sat at the wine, 50 

How we changed the rings from our fingers. 
And I can show thee thine.? 



192 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

"Oh, yours was good, and good enough, 
But not so good as mine; 
For yours was o' the good red gold, 55 

But mine of the diamond fine. 

"So open the door, Lord Gregory, 
And open it with speed; 
Or your young son that 's in my arms 

For cold will soon be dead." 60 

"Away, away, ye ill woman! 
Go from my door for shame ! 
For I have gotten another Love, 
So you may hie you hame." 

Fair Annie turned her round about; 65 

" Well ! since that it be sae, 
May never a woman, that has borne a son. 
Have a heart so full of wae ! 

"Take down, take down, the mast of gold, 
Set up the mast o' tree; 70 

It ill becomes a forsaken lady 
To sail so gallantlie." 

Lord Gregory started from his sleep. 
And to his mother did say, 
"I dreamt a dream, this night, mother, 75 

That makes my heart right wae. 

"I dreamt that Annie of Lochroyan, 
The flower of all her kin, 
E'en now was standing at my door. 

But none would let her in." 80 



SIXTH YEAR — FIFTH MONTH 193 

"Oh, there was a woman stood at the door. 
With a bairn intill her arm; 
But I could not let her come within. 
For fear she had done you harm." 

"O wae betide ye, ill woman ! 85 

An ill death may ye dee, 
That wadna open the door to her. 
Nor yet would waken me!" 

Oh, he 's gone down to yon shore side 

As fast as he could fare; 90 

He saw fair Annie in the boat. 
But the wind it tossed her sair. 

And "Hey, Annie!" and "How, Annie! 

O Annie, winna ye bide?" 
But aye the mair he cried "Annie," 95 

The broader grew the tide. 

And "Hey, Annie!" and "How, Annie! 

O Annie, speak to me!" 
But aye the louder he cried "Annie," 

The louder roared the sea. 100 

The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough. 
And the ship was rent in twain : 

And soon he saw his fair Annie 
Come floating o'er the main. 

He saw his young son in her arms, 105 

Both tossed above the tide; 
He wrang his hands, and fast he ran 

And plunged in the sea sae wide. 



194 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

He catched her by the yellow hair. 

And drew her up on the sand; 110 

But cold and stiff was every limb 
Before he reached the land. 

And then he kissed her on the cheek, 

And kissed her on the chin; 
And sair he kissed her on the lips : 115 

But there was no breath within. 

"Oh, wae betide my cruel mother! 
An ill death may she dee! 
She turned fair Annie from my door, 

Wha died for love of me ! " 120 

Unknovm 

SIXTH MONTH 
THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

SELECTIONS 
MILES STANDISH 

In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the 

Pilgrims, 
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive 

dwelling, 
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan 

leather. 
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan 

Captain. 
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind 

him, and pausing 5 

Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of 

warfare, 



^ 



SIXTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 195 

Hanging in shining array along the walls of the cham- 
M ber, — 

Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of 
Damascus, 

Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical 
Arabic sentence, 

While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, 
musket, and matchlock. 10 

Short of stature he was, but strongly built and ath- 
letic. 

Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles 
and sinews of iron; 

Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was 
already 

Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in 
November. 

Nekr him was seated John Alden, his friend and house- 
hold companion, 15 

Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the 
window; 

Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complex- 
ion, 

Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, 
as the captives 

Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not An- 
gles but Angels." 

Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the 
Mayflower. 20 



I 



Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe 
interrupting. 
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the 
Captain of Plymouth. 



196 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

"Look at these arms," he said, "the warHke weapons 

that hang here 
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or 

inspection ! 
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flan- 
ders; this breastplate, 25 
Well I remember the day! once saved my life in a 

skirmish; 
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet 
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabu- 

cero. 
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of 

Miles Standish 
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the 

Flemish morasses." 30 

Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up 

from his writing: 
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the 

speed of the bullet; 
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and 

our weapon!" 
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of 

the stripling: 
" See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal 

hanging; 35 

That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to 

others. 
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excel- 
lent adage; 
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and 

your inkhorn. 
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible 

army. 



SIXTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 197 

Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and 
his matchlock, 40 

Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and 
pillage, 

And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my sol- 
diers!" 

This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as 
the sunbeams 

Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a 
moment. 

Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain 
continued : 45 

"Look! you can see from this window my brazen how- 
itzer planted 

High on the roof of the church, a preacher who speaks 
to the purpose. 

Steady, straightforward, and strong, with irresistible 
logic, 

Orthodox, flashing conviction right into the hearts of 
the heathen. 

Now we are ready, I think, for any assault of the In- 
dians: 50 

Let them come, if they like, and the sooner they try it 
the better, — 

Let them come if they like, be it sagamore, sachem, or 
pow-wow, 

Aspinet, Samoset, Corbitant, Squanto, or Tokamaha- 
mon! 
Long at the window he stood, and wistfully gazed 
on the landscape, 

Washed with a cold gray mist, the vapory breath of 
the east-wind, 55 

Forest and meadow and hill, and the steel-blue rim of 
the ocean, 



198 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Lying silent and sad, in the afternoon shadows and 
sunshine. 

Over his countenance flitted a shadow like those on 
the landscape, 

Gloom intermingled with light; and his voice was sub- 
dued with emotion. 

Tenderness, pity, regret, as after a pause he pro- 
ceeded : 60 

"Yonder there, on the hill by the sea, lies buried Rose 
Standish ; 

Beautiful rose of love, that bloomed for me by the 
wayside! 

She was the first to die of all who came in the May- 
flower! 

Green above her is growing the field of wheat we have 
sown there. 

Better to hide from the Indian scouts the graves of our 
people, 65 

Lest they should count them and see how many al- 
ready have perished!" 

Sadly his face he averted, and strode up and down, 
and was thoughtful. 

Fixed to the opposite wall was a shelf of books, and 
among them 

Prominent three, distinguished alike for bulk and for 
binding; 

Barriffe's Artillery Guide, and the Commentaries of 
Caesar, 70 

Out of the Latin translated by Arthur Goldinge of 
London, 

And, as if guarded by these, between them was stand- 
ing the Bible. 



SIXTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 199 

Musing a moment before them, Miles Standish 

paused, as if doubtful 
Which of the three he should choose for his consolation 

and comfort. 
Whether the wars of the Hebrews, the famous cam- 
paigns of the Romans, 75 
Or the Artillery practice, designed for belligerent 

Christians. 
Finally down from its shelf he dragged the ponderous 

Roman, 
Seated himself at the window, and opened the book, 

and in silence 
Turned o'er the well-worn leaves, where thumb-marks 

thick on the margin. 
Like the trample of feet, proclaimed the battle was 

hottest. 80 

Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen 

of the stripling, 
Busily writing epistles important, to go by the May- 
flower, 
Ready to sail on the morrow, or next day at latest, 

God willing! 
Homeward bound with the tidings of all that terrible 

winter, 
Letters written by Alden, and full of the name of 

Priscilla, 85 

Full of the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden 

Priscilla ! 

JOHN ALDEN's errand 

So he entered the house; and the hum of the wheel 
and the singing 
Suddenly ceased; for Priscilla, aroused by his step on 
the threshold, 250 



200 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Rose as he entered and gave him her hand, in signal of 

welcome. 
Saying, "I knew it was you, when I heard your step in 

the passage; 
For I was thinking of you, as I sat there singing and 

spinning." 
Awkward and dumb with delight, that a thought of 

him had been mingled 
Thus in the sacred psalm, that came from the heart of 

the maiden, 255 

Silent before her he stood, and gave her the flowers for 

an answer. 
Finding no words for his thought. He remembered 

that day in the winter. 
After the first great snow, when he broke a path from 

the village. 
Reeling and plunging along through the drifts that 

encumbered the doorway. 
Stamping the snow from his feet as he entered the 

house, and Priscilla 260 

Laughed at his snowy locks, and gave him a seat by 

the fireside. 
Grateful and pleased to know he had thought of her 

in the snow-storm. 
Had he but spoken then! perhaps not in vain had he 

spoken ; 
Now it was all too late; the golden moment had van- 
ished ! 
So he stood there abashed, and gave her the flowers 

for an answer. 265 

Then they sat down and talked of the birds and the 
beautiful Spring-time; 



SIXTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 201 

Talked of their friends at home, and the Mayflower 
that sailed on the morrow. 

"I have been thinking all day," said gently the Puri- 
tan maiden, 

"Dreaming all night, and thinking all day, of the 
hedge-rows of England, — 

They are in blossom now, and the country is all like a 
garden ; 270 

Thinking of lanes and fields, and the song of the lark 
and the linnet. 

Seeing the village street, and familiar faces of neigh- 
bors 

Going about as of old, and stopping to gossip together, 

And, at the end of the street, the village church, with 
the ivy 

Climbing the old gray tower, and the quiet graves in 
the churchyard. 275 

Kind are the people I live with, and dear to me my 
I religion; 

Still my heart is so sad, that I wish myself back in 
Old England. 

You will say it is wrong, but I cannot help it: I almost 

Wish myself back in Old England, I feel so lonely and 
wretched." 

Thereupon answered the youth: "Indeed I do not 

condemn you; 280 

Stouter hearts than a woman's have quailed in this 

terrible winter. 
Yours is tender and trusting, and needs a stronger to 

lean on; 
So I have come to you now, with an offer and proffer of 

marriage 



202 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Made by a good man and true, Miles Standish the 
Captain of Plymouth!" 

Thus he delivered his message, the dexterous writer 
of letters, — 285 

Did not embellish the theme, nor array it in beautiful 
phrases. 

But came straight to the point, and blurted it out like 
a school-boy; 

Even the Captain himself could hardly have said it 
more bluntly. 

Mute with amazement and sorrow, Priscilla the Puri- 
tan maiden 

Looked into Alden's face, her eyes dilated with won- 
der, 290 

Feeling his words like a blow, that stunned her and 
rendered her speechless; 

Till at length she exclaimed, interrupting the ominous 
silence : 

"If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very eager to 
wed me, 

Why does he not come himself, and take the trouble to 
woo me? 

If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth 
the winning!" 295 

Then John Alden began explaining and smoothing the 
matter. 

Making it worse as he went, by saying the Captain 
was busy, — 

Had no time for such things; — such things! the 
words grating harshly 

Fell on the ear of Priscilla; and swift as a flash she 
made answer; 



SIXTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 203 

"Has he no time for such things, as you call it, before 

he is married, 300 

Would he be likely to find it, or make it, after the 

wedding? 
That is the way with you men; you don't understand 

us, you cannot. 
When you have made up your minds, after thinking of 

this one and that one, 
Choosing, selecting, rejecting, comparing one with 

another. 
Then you make known your desire, with abrupt and 

sudden avowal, 305 

And are offended and hurt, and indignant perhaps, 

that a woman 
Does not respond at once to a love that she never sus- 
pected, 
Does not attain at a bound the height to which you 

have been climbing. 
This is not right nor just; for surely a woman's affection 
Is not a thing to be asked for, and had for only the 

asking. 310 

When one is truly in love, one not only says it, but 

shows it. 
Had he but waited awhile, had he only showed that 

he loved me. 
Even this Captain of yours — who knows? — at last 

might have won me. 
Old and rough as he is; but now it never can happen." 

Still John Alden went on, unheeding the words of 
Priscilla, 315 

Urging the suit of his friend, explaining, persuading, 
expanding; 



204 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Spoke of his courage and skill, and of all his battles in 
Flanders, 

How with the people of God he had chosen to suffer 
affliction. 

How, in return for his zeal, they had made him Cap- 
tain of Plymouth; 

He was a gentleman born, could trace his pedigree 
plainly 320 

Back to Hugh Standish of Duxbury Hall, in Lanca- 
shire, England, 

Who was the son of Ralph, and the grandson of 
Thurston de Standish; 

Heir unto vast estates, of which he was basely de- 
frauded. 

Still bore the family arms, and had for his crest a cock 
argent. 

Combed and wattled gules, and all the rest of the 
blazon, 325 

He was a man of honor, of noble and generous nature; 

Though he was rough, he was kindly; she knew how 
during the winter 

He had attended the sick, with a hand as gentle as 
woman's; 

Somewhat hasty and hot, he could not deny it, and 
headstrong, 

Stern as a soldier might be, but hearty, and placable 
always, 330 

Not to be laughed at and scorned, because he was little 
of stature; 

For he was great of heart, magnanimous, courtly, 
courageous; 

Any woman in Plymouth, nay, any woman in Eng- 
land, 



SIXTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 205 

Might be happy and proud to be called the wife of 
Miles Standish! 

But as he warmed and glowed, in his simple and 

eloquent language, 335 

Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of his rival, 

Archly the maiden smiled, and, with eyes overrunning 

with laughter, 
Said, in a tremulous voice, "Why don't you speak for 
yourself, John?" 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

THE SONG OF THE CAMP 

"Give us a song!" the soldiers cried, 
The outer trenches guarding. 
When the heated guns of the camps allied 
Grew weary of bombarding. 

' The dark Redan, in silent scoff, 5 

r Lay, grim and threatening, under; 

And the tawny mound of the Malakoff 
No longer belched its thunder. 

There was a pause. A guardsman said, 

"We storm the forts to-morrow; 10 

Sing while we may, another day 
Will bring enough of sorrow." 

3. The chief feature of the Crimean War (1854-1855) was the 
rAege of Sebastopol, a Russian town, with an important harbor, on 
the Black Sea. The allied forces besieging it were those of England, 
France and Turkey. 

5. The most powerful fortifications erected by the Russians for 
the defence of Sebastopol were on the MalakoS hill, and among 
them the one most prominent and threatening was the tower, called 
the great Redan. 



206 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

They lay along the battery's side, 

Below the smoking cannon: 
Brave hearts, from Severn and from Clyde, 15 

And from the banks of Shannon. 

They sang of love, and not of fame; 

Forgot was Britain's glory : 
Each heart recalled a different name, 

But all sang "Annie Laurie." 20 

Voice after voice caught up the song, 

Until its tender passion 
Rose like an anthem, rich and strong, — 

Their battle-eve confession. 

Dear girl, her name he dared not speak, 25 

But, as the song grew louder. 
Something upon the soldier's cheek 

Washed off the stains of powder. 

Beyond the darkening ocean burned 

The bloody sunset's embers, 30 

While the Crimean valleys learned 
How English love remembers. 

And once again a fire of hell 

Rained on the Russian quarters. 

With scream of shot, and burst of shell, 35 

And bellowing of the mortars ! 

And Irish Nora's eyes are dim 

For a singer, dumb and gory; 
And English Mary mourns for him 

Who sang of "Annie Laurie." 40 



i 



SIXTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 207 

Sleep, soldiers ! still in honored rest 

Your truth and valor wearing: 
The bravest are the tenderest, — 

The loving are the daring. 

Bayard Taylor 

ANNIE LAURIE 

Maxwelton braes are bonnie 

Where early fa's the dew, 

And it 's there that Annie Laurie 

Gie'd me her promise true, — 

Gie'd me her promise true, 5 

Which ne'er forgot will be; 

And for bonnie Annie Laurie 

I 'd lay me doune and dee. 

Her brow is like the snaw-drift, 

Her throat is like the swan, 10 

Her face it is the fairest 

That e'er the sun shone on, — 

That e'er the sun shone on; 

And dark blue is her ee; 

And for bonnie Annie Laurie 15 

I 'd lay me doune and dee. 

Like dew on the gowan lying 

Is the fa' o' her fairy feet; 

Like the winds in summer sighing. 

Her voice is low and sweet, — ' 20 

Her voice is low and sweet; 

And she's a' the world to me; 

And for bonnie Annie Laurie 

I 'd lay me doune and dee. 

Unknown 



208 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

THE FLAG 

That ocean-guarded flag of light, forever may it fly ! 

It flashed o'er Monmouth's bloody fight, and lit Mc- 
Henry's sky; 

It bears upon its folds of flame to earth's remotest 
wave 

The names of men whose deeds of fame shall e'er in- 
spire the brave. 

Timbers have crash'd and guns have peal'd beneath 
its ardent glow; 5 

But never did that ensign yield its honor to the foe; 

Its fame shall march with martial tread down ages yet 
to be 

To guard those stars that never paled in fight on land 
or sea. 

Its stripes of red, eternal dyed with heart-streams of all 

lands; 
Its white, the snow-capped hills that hide in storm 

their upraised hands; 10 

Its blue, the ocean waves that beat round freedom's 

circled shore; 
Its stars, the prints of angels' feet, that shine forever 

more. 

CHORUS 

Forever may it fly! 

Forever may it fly! 

That ocean-guarded flag of light, 15 

Forever may it fly! 

James Riley 



SIXTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 209 

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND 

Ye Mariners of England 

That guard our native seas ! 

Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, 

The battle and the breeze! 

Your glorious standard launch again 5 

To match another foe : 

And sweep through the deep, 

While the stormy winds do blow; 

While the battle rages loud and long 

And the stormy winds do blow. 10 

The spirits of your fathers 

Shall start from every wave, 

For the deck it was their field of fame, 

And Ocean was their grave: 

Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell 15 

Your manly hearts shall glow, 

As ye sweep through the deep. 

While the stormy winds do blow; 

While the battle rages loud and long 

And the stormy winds do blow. 20 

Britannia needs no bulwarks. 

No towers along the steep; 

Her march is o'er the mountain waves. 

Her home is on the deep. 

With thunders from her native oak 25 

She quells the floods below. 

As they roar on the shore, 

When the stormy winds do blow; 



210 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

When the battle rages loud and long 

And the stormy winds do blow. 30 

The meteor-flag of England 
Shall yet terrific burn; 
Till danger's troubled night depart 
And the star of peace return. 
Then, then, ye ocean warriors! 35 

Our song and feast shall flow 
To the fame of your name, 
When the storm has ceased to blow; 
When the fiery fight is heard no more. 
And the storm has ceased to blow. 40 

Thomas Campbell 

FAIR HELEN OF KIRCONNELL 

I WISH I were where Helen lies. 
Night and day on me she cries; 
Oh that I were where Helen lies, 
On fair Kirconnell Lee! 

Curst be the heart that thought the thought, 5 
And curst the hand that fired the shot. 
When in my arms burd Helen dropt. 
And died to succour me! 



O think na ye my heart was sair, 
When my love dropt down and spak nae mair! 10 
There did she swoon wi' meikle care, 
On fair Kirconnell Lee. 

7. burd: lady. 9. na: not. sair: sorrowful. 

10. mair: more. 11. meikle: much. 



SIXTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 211 

As I went down the water-side, 
None but my foe to be my guide. 
None but my foe to be my guide, 15 

On fair Kirconnell Lee; 

I lighted down my sword to draw, 
I hacked him in pieces sma', 
I hacked him in pieces sma', 

For her sake that died for me. 20 

Helen fair, beyond compare! 

1 '11 make a garland of thy hair. 
Shall bind my heart for evermair. 

Until the day I die. 

O that I were where Helen lies! 26 

Night and day on me she cries; 
Out of my bed she bids me rise. 

Says, "Haste and come to me!" — 

Helen fair ! O Helen chaste ! 

If I were with thee, I were blest, 30 

Where thou lies low, and takes thy rest. 
On fair Kirconnell Lee. 

1 wish my grave were growing green, 
A winding-sheet drawn ower my een. 

And I in Helen's arms lying, 35 

On fair Kirconnell Lee. 

Old Ballad 

34. ower: over, een: eyes. 



212 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 
SEVENTH MONTH 

THE VOICE OF SPRING 

I COME, I come ! ye have called me long — 

I come o'er the mountains with light and song! 

Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth 

By the winds which tell of the violet's birth, 

By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass, 5 

By the green leaves opening as I pass. 

I have breathed on the South, and the chestnut flowers 

By thousands have burst from the forest bowers. 

And the ancient graves and the fallen fanes 

Are veiled with wreaths on Italian plains; — 10 

But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom. 

To speak of the ruin or the tomb ! 

I have looked on the hills of the stormy North, 

And the larch has hung all his tassels forth. 

The fisher is out on the sunny sea, 15 

And the reindeer bounds o'er the pastures free, 

And the pine has a fringe of softer green. 

And the moss looks bright where my foot hath been. 

I have sent through the wood-paths a glowing sigh, 
And called out each voice of the deep-blue sky; 20 

From the night-bird's lay through the starry time. 
In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime. 
To the swan's wild note by the Iceland lakes. 
When the dark fir branch into verdure breaks. 

From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain; 
They are sweeping on to the silvery main, 26 



SIXTH YEAR — SE\TNTH MONTH 213 

They are flashing down from the mountain brows, 
They are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs. 
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves. 
And the earth resounds with the joy of waves ! 30 

Come forth, O ye children of gladness! come! 

Where the violets lie may be now your home. 

Ye of the rose lip and dew-bright eye. 

And the bounding footstep, to meet me fly ! 

With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay, 35 

Come forth to the sunshine — I may not stay. 

Away from the dwellings of careworn men. 

The waters are sparkling in grove and glen ! 

Away from the chamber and sullen hearth. 

The young leaves are dancing in breezy mirth ! 40 

Their light stems thrill to the wildwood strains. 

And youth is abroad in my green domains. 

But ye! — ye are changed since ye met me last! 
There is something bright from your features passed ! 
There is that come over your brow and eye 45 

Which speaks of a world where the flowers must die ! 
— Ye smile ! but your smile hath a dimness yet; 
O, what have you looked on since last we met.f* 

Ye are changed, ye are changed ! — and I see not here 
All whom I saw in the vanished year! 50 

There were graceful heads, with their ringlets bright. 
Which tossed in the breeze with a play of light; 
There were eyes in whose glistening laughter lay 
No faint remembrance of dull decay! 



214 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

There were steps that flew o'er the cowsHp's head, 55 

As if for a banquet all earth were spread; 

There were voices that rang through the sapphire 

sky, 
And had not a sound of mortality ! 
Are they gone? is their mirth from the mountains 

passed? 
Ye have looked on death since ye met me last! 60 

I know whence the shadow comes o'er you now, — 

Ye have strewn the dust on the sunny brow! 

Ye have given the lovely to Earth's embrace, — 

She hath taken the fairest of Beauty's race, 

With their laughing eyes and their festal crown : 65 

They are gone from amongst you in silence down ! 

They are gone from amongst you, the young and 

fair, 
Ye have lost the gleam of their shining hair! 
But I know of a land where there falls no blight, — 
I shall find them there, with their eyes of light! — ■ 70 
Where Death midst the blooms of the morn may 

dwell, 
I tarry no longer, — farewell, farewell ! 

The summer is coming, on soft wings borne, — 
Ye may press the grape, ye may bind the corn! 
For me, I depart to a brighter shore, — 75 

Ye are marked by care, ye are mine no more; 
I go where the loved who have left you dwell, 
And the flowers are not Death's. Fare ye well, fare- 
well! 

Felicia D. Hemans i 



SIXTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 215 
A LEGEND OF BREGENZ 



Girt round with rugged mountains 

The fair Lake Constance hes; 
In her blue heart reflected 

Shine back the starry skies; 
And, watching each white cloudlet 5 

Float silently and slow. 
You think a piece of Heaven 

Lies on our earth below! 

II 

Midnight is there : and Silence, 

Enthroned in Heaven, looks down 10 

Upon her own calm mirror, 

Upon a sleeping town: 
For Bregenz, that quaint city 

Upon the Tyrol shore, 
Has stood above Lake Constance 15 

A thousand years and more. 

Ill 
Her battlements and towers. 

From off their rocky steep, 
Have cast their trembling shadow 

For ages on the deep: 20 

Mountain, and lake, and valley, 

A sacred legend know. 
Of how the town was saved, "one night, 

Three hundred years ago. 



216 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

IV 

Far from her home and kindred, 25 

A Tyrol maid had fled, 
To serve in the Swiss valleys, 

And toil for daily bread; 
And every year that fleeted 

So silently and fast, 30 

Seemed to bear farther from her 

The memory of the Past. 

V 
She served kind, gentle masters, 

Nor asked for rest or change ; 
Her friends seemed no more new ones, 35 

Their speech seemed no more strange; 
And when she led her cattle 

To pasture every day, 
She ceased to look and wonder 

On which side Bregenz lay. 40 

VI 

She spoke no more of Bregenz, 

With longing and with tears; 
Her Tyrol home seemed faded 

In a deep mist of years; 
She heeded not the rumors 45 

Of Austrian war and strife; 
Each day she rose, contented. 

To the calm toils of life. 

VII 

Yet, when her master's children 

Would clustering round her stand, 50 



SIXTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 217 

She sang them ancient ballads 

Of her own native land; 
And when at morn and evening 

She knelt before God's throne. 
The accents of her childhood 55 

Rose to her lips alone. 

VIII 

And so she dwelt : the valley- 
More peaceful year by year; 

When suddenly strange portents 

Of some great deed seemed near. 60 

The golden corn was bending 
Upon its fragile stock, 

While farmers, heedless of their fields. 
Paced up and down in talk. 

IX 

The men seemed stern and altered, 65 

With looks cast on the ground; 
With anxious faces, one by one. 

The women gathered round; 
All talk of flax, or spinning, 

Or work, was put away; 70 

The very children seemed afraid 

To go alone to play. 

X 

One day, out in the meadow 

With strangers from the town. 
Some secret plan discussing, 75 

The men walked up and down. 



218 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Yet now and then seemed watching 

A strange uncertain gleam, 
That looked like lances 'mid the trees. 

That stood below the stream. 80 

XI 

At eve they all assembled. 

Then care and doubt were fled; 
With jovial laugh they feasted; 

The board was nobly spread. 
The elder of the village 85 

Rose up, his glass in hand, 
And cried, "We drink the downfall 

Of an accursed land! 

XII 

"The night is growing darker, 

Ere one more day is flown, 90 

Bregenz, our foeman's stronghold, 

Bregenz shall be our own!" 
The women shrank in terror 

(Yet Pride, too, had her part). 
But one poor Tyrol maiden 95 

Felt death within her heart. 

XIII 

Before her stood fair Bregenz ; 

Once more her towers arose; 
What were the friends beside her? 

Only her country's foes ! 100 

The faces of her kinsfolk. 

The days of childhood flown, 
The echoes of her mountains. 

Reclaimed her as their own ! 



SIXTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 219 

XIV 

Nothing she heard around her 105 

(Though shouts rang forth again), 
Gone were the green Swiss valleys. 

The pasture, and the plain; 
Before her eyes one vision, 

And in her heart one cry, 110 

That said, "Go forth, save Bregenz, 

And then, if need be, die! " 

XV 

With trembling haste and breathless. 

With noiseless step, she sped; 
Horses and weary cattle 115 

Were standing in the shed; 
She loosed the strong, white charger. 

That fed from out her hand. 
She mounted, and she turned his head 

Towards her native land. 120 

XVI 

Out — out into the darkness — 

Faster, and still more fast; 
The smooth grass flies behind her, 

The chestnut wood is past; 
She looks up; clouds are heavy: 125 

Why is her steed so slow? — 
Scarcely the wind beside them 

Can pass them as they go. 

XVII 

"Faster!" she cries, "O faster!" 

Eleven the church-bells chime: 130 



220 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

"O God," she cries, "help Bregenz, 
And bring me there in time!" 

But louder than bells' ringing, 
Or lowing of the kine, 

Grows nearer in the midnight 135 

The rushing of the Rhine. 

XVIII 

Shall not the roaring waters 

Their headlong gallop check? 
The steed draws back in terror. 

She leans upon his neck 
To watch the flowing darkness; 

The bank is high and steep ; 
One pause — he staggers forward, 

And plunges in the deep. 

XIX 

She strives to pierce the blackness, 145 

And looser throws the rein; 
Her steed must breast the waters 

That dash above his mane. 
How gallantly, how nobly, 

He struggles through the foam, 150 

And see — in the far distance 

Shine out the lights of home! 

XX 

Up the steep banks he bears her. 

And now, they rush again 
Towards the heights of Bregenz 155 

That tower above the plain. 
They reach the gate of Bregenz, 

Just as the midnight rings, 



SIXTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 221 

And out come serf and soldier 

To meet the news she brings. 160 

XXI 

Bregenz is saved! Ere daylight 

Her battlements are manned; 
Defiance greets the army 

That marches on the land. 
And if to deeds heroic 165 

Should endless fame be paid, 
Bregenz does well to honor 

The noble Tyrol maid. 

XXII 

Three hundred years are vanished. 

And yet upon the hill 170 

An old stone gateway rises, 

To do her honor still. 
And there, when Bregenz women 

Sit spinning in the shade, 
They see in quaint old carving 175 

The Charger and the Maid. 

XXIII 

And when, to guard old Bregenz, 

By gateway, street, and tower. 
The warder paces all night long 

And calls each passing hour; 180 

"Nine," "ten," "eleven," he cries aloud, 

And then (O crown of Fame!), 
When midnight pauses in the skies. 

He calls the maiden's name! 

Adelaide Procter 



222 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP ^ 

You know, we French stormed Ratisbon: 

A mile or so away. 
On a little mound. Napoleon 

Stood on our storming-day; 
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, 5 

Legs wide, arms locked behind. 
As if to balance the prone brow 

Oppressive with its mind. 

Just as perhaps he mused, "My plans 

That soar, to earth may fall, 10 

Let once my army -leader Lannes 
Waver at yonder wall," — 

Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew 
A rider, bound on bound 

* Although the background of this poem is the whole history of 
Napoleon's fifth war with Austria in general, or the battle of Regens- 
burg (Ratisbon) in particular. Browning's interest is to choose for 
his theme the one dramatic moment in the life of a boy-soldier in the 
ranks. Browning's theory of poetry was that its province is human 
life and action, and its theme any intense, dramatic, personal act 
whether of the great or the humble. 

" Take the least man of all mankind, as I, 

Look at.his head and heart, find how and why 

He differs from his fellows utterly," 
he says, and there the poet has his material. The theme of all his 
short dramatic poems is such a disclosure of a man's soul in a second. 
So here the whole of Napoleon's ambition flashes out in two lines, 
the boy's devotion in a single stanza, and his sacrifice in three words. 
The Browning note of realism is evident in the description of Napo-. 
leon; and that optimism which marked him from contemporarjl 
poets speaks bravely in the boy's spiritual victory, completely wonJ 
though at a dear cost. So this vivid dramatic bit in its material! 
theme, and rapid treatment is a fair type of the art of Browning's 
short poems. j 



SIXTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 223 

Full-galloping; nor bridle drew 15 

Until he reached the mound. 



Then off there flung in smiling joy, 

And held himself erect 
By just his horse's mane, a boy : 

You hardly could suspect — 20 

(So tight he kept his lips compressed, 

Scarce any blood came through) 
You looked twice ere you saw his breast 

Was all but shot in two. 

"Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace 25 

We 've got you Ratisbon ! 
The Marshal's in the market-place. 

And you'll be there anon 
To see your flag-bird flap his vans 

Where I, to heart's desire, 30 

Perched him ! " The chief's eye flashed; his plans 

Soared up again like fire. 

The chief's eye flashed; but presently 

Softened itself, as sheathes 
A film the mother-eagle's eye 35 

When her bruised eaglet breathes; 
" You 're wounded ! " " Nay," the soldier's pride, 

Touched to the quick, he said : 
" I 'm killed, Sire ! " And his chief beside. 

Smiling the boy fell dead. 40 

Robert Brovming 



224 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

THE BUILDERS 

All are architects of Fate, 

Working in these walls of Time ; 

Some with massive deeds and great, 
Some with ornaments of rhyme. 

Nothing useless is, or low; 5 

Each thing in its place is best; 

And what seems but idle show 

Strengthens and supports the rest. 

For the structure that we raise. 

Time is with materials filled; 10 

Our to-days and yesterdays 

Are the blocks with which we build. 

Truly shape and fashion these; 

Leave no yawning gaps between; 
Think not, because no man sees, 15 

Such things will remain unseen. 

In the elder days of Art, 

Builders wrought with greatest care 
Each minute and unseen part; 

For the Gods see everywhere. 20 

Let us do our work as well. 
Both the unseen and the seen; 

Make the house, where Gods may dwell, 
Beautiful, entire, and clean. 



SIXTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 225 

Else our lives are incomplete, 26 

Standing in these walls of Time, 

Broken stairways, where the feet 
Stumble as they seek to climb. 



Build to-day, then, strong and sure, 

With a firm and ample base; 30 

And ascending and secure 

Shall to-morrow find its place. 

Thus alone can we attain 

To those turrets, where the eye 
Sees the world as one vast plain, 35 

And one boundless reach of sky. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 



COLUMBUS 

Behind him lay the gray Azores, 

Behind the Gates of Hercules; 

Before him not the ghost of shores. 

Before him only shoreless seas. 

The good mate said: "Now must we pray, 5 

For lo ! the very stars are gone. 

Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say.?" 

"Why, say, 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'" 

"My men grow mutinous day by day; 
My men grow ghastly wan and weak." 10 

The stout mate thought of home; a spray 
Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. 



226 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

"What shall I say, brave Admiral, say, 

If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" 

"Why, you shall say at break of day, 15 

' Sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! and on ! '" 

They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow. 

Until at last the blanched mate said: 

"Why, now not even God would know 

Should I and all my men fall dead. 20 

These very winds forget their way, 

For God from these dread seas is gone. 

Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say" — 

He said: "Sail on! sail on! and on!" 

They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate : 25 

"This mad sea shows his teeth to-night. 

He curls his lip, he lies in wait, 

With lifted teeth, as if to bite! 

Brave Admiral, say but one good word: 

What shall we do when hope is gone.?" 30 

The words leapt as a leaping sword : 

" Sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! and on ! " 

Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, 
And peered through darkness. Ah, that night 
Of all dark nights ! And then a speck — 35 

Alight! Alight! Alight! Alight! 
It grew, a starlit flag unfurled ! 
It grew to be Time's burst of dawn. 
He gained a world; he gave that world 
Its grandest lesson : " On ! sail on ! " 40 

Joaquin Miller 



SIXTH YEAR — EIGHTH MONTH 227 

EIGHTH MONTH 
THE RUBY-CROWNED KINGLET 



Where 's your kingdom, little king? 
Where's the land you call your own, 
Where's the palace, and your throne? 
Fluttering lightly on the wing 

Through the blossom-world of May, 5 
Whither lies your royal way? 
Where 's the realm that owns your sway, 
Little king? 

Far to northward lies a land, 

Where the trees together stand 10 

Closer than the blades of wheat. 

When the summer is complete. 

Like a robe the forests hide 

Lonely vale and mountain side: 

Balsam, hemlock, spruce, and pine, — 15 

All those mighty trees are mine. 

There's a river flowing free; 

All its waves belong to me. 

There 's a lake so clear and bright 

Stars shine out of it all night, 20 

And the rowan-berries red 

Round it like a girdle spread. 

Feasting plentiful and fine. 

Air that cheers the heart like wine, 

Royal pleasures by the score, 25 

Wait for me in Labrador. 



228 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

There I'll build my dainty nest; 

There I'll fix my court and rest; 

There from dawn to dark I '11 sing: 

Happy kingdom! Lucky king! 30 

II 

Back again, my little king! 
Is your happy kingdom lost 
To that rebel knave, Jack Frost? 

Have you felt the snow-flakes sting? 

Autumn is a rude disrober; 35 

Houseless, homeless in October, 
Whither now? Your plight is sober, 
Exiled king! 

Far to southward lie the regions 

Where my loyal flower-legions 40 

Hold possession of the year. 

Filling every month with cheer. 

Christmas wakes the winter rose; 

New Year daffodils unclose; 

Yellow jasmine through the woods 45 

Runs in March with golden floods. 

Dropping from the tallest trees , 

Shining streams that never freeze. 

Thither I must find my way. 

Fly by night and feed by day, — 50 

Till I see the southern moon 

Glistening on the broad lagoon. 

Where the cypress' vivid green. 

And the dark magnolia's sheen, 

Weave a shelter round ray home. 55 

There the snow-storms never come: 



SIXTH \^AR — EIGHTH MONTH 229 

There the bannered mosses gray 

In the breezes gently sway, 

Hanging low on every side 

Round the covert where I hide. 60 

There I hold my winter court, 

Full of merriment and sport: 

There I take my ease and sing : 

Happy kingdom ! Lucky king ! 

Ill 

Little boaster, vagrant king! 65 

Neither north nor south is yours : 
You've no kingdom that endures. 

Wandering every fall and spring. 
With your painted crown so slender, 
And your talk of royal splendor 70 

Must I call you a Pretender, 
Landless king.? 

Never king by right divine 

Ruled a richer realm than mine ! 

What are lands and golden crowns, 75 

Armies, fortresses, and towns. 

Jewels, sceptres, robes, and rings, — 

What are these to song and wings.'' 

Everywhere that I can fly, 

There I own the earth and sky; 80 

Everywhere that I can sing. 

There I 'm liapjjy as a king. 

Henry van Dyke 



230 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 

By the flow of the inland river, 

Whence the fleets of iron had fled, 
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver. 
Asleep are the ranks of the dead : 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day; 
Under the one, the Blue, 
Under the other, the Gray. 

These in the robings of glory, 

Those in the gloom of defeat, 
All with the battle-blood gory. 
In the dusk of eternity meet: 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day; 
Under the laurel, the Blue, 
Under the willow, the Gray. 

From the silence of sorrowful hours 

The desolate mourners go, 
Lovingly laden with flowers 

Alike for the friend and the foe: 
Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the judgment-day; 
Under the roses, the Blue, 
Under the lilies, the Gray. 

So with an equal splendor. 

The morning sun-rays fall. 

With a touch impartially tender, 

On the blossoms blooming for all : 



SIXTH YEAR — EIGHTH MONTH 231 

Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day; 30 

Broidered with gold, the Blue, 

Mellowed with gold, the Gray. 

So, when the summer calleth, 

On forest and field of grain, 
With an equal murmur falleth 35 

The cooling drip of the rain : 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day; 
Wet with the rain, the Blue, 

Wet with the rain, the Gray. 40 

Sadly, but not with upbraiding. 

The generous deed was done. 
In the storm of the years that are fading 
No braver battle was won: 

Under the sod and the dew, 45 

Waiting the judgment-day; 
Under the blossoms, the Blue, 
Under the garlands, the Gray. 

No more shall the war cry sever. 

Or the winding rivers be red; 50 

They banish our anger forever 

When they laurel the graves of pur dead ! 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day; 
Love and tears for the Blue, 55 

Tears and love for the Gray. 

Francis Miles Finch 



232 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

LADY CLARE i 

It was the time when Hhes blow, 

And clouds are highest up in air. 
Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe 

To give his cousin. Lady Clare. 

I trow they did not part in scorn : 5 

Lovers long-betroth'd were they: 
They two will wed the morrow morn : 

God's blessing on the day! 

"He does not love me for my birth, 

Nor for my lands so broad and fair; 10 

He loves me for my own true worth. 

And that is well," said Lady Clare. 

In there came old Alice the nurse, 

Said, "Who was this that went from thee?" 

"It was my cousin," said Lady Clare, 15 

"To-morrow he weds with me." 

"O God be thank'd!" said Alice the nurse, 
"That all comes round so just and fair: 

Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands, 

And you are not the Lady Clare." 20 

"Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse?" 
Said Lady Clare, "that ye speak so wild?" 

"As God's above," said Alice the nurse, 
"I speak the truth: you are my child. 

^ Lady Clare appeared in the volume of 1842, and there the poet 
acknowledged in a note his debt to Miss Ferrier's novel The Inheri- 
tance for the story. As the substance of the verses is like that of an 
old English ballad, so is the manner, to a remarkable degree. 



SIXTH YEAR — EIGHTH MONTH 233 

"The old Earl's daughter died at my breast; 25 
I speak the truth, as I live by bread ! 

I buried her like my own sweet child. 
And put my child in her stead." 

"Falsely, falsely have ye done, 

O mother," she said, "if this be true, 30 

To keep the best man under the sun 

So many j^ears from his dufe." 

"Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, 

"But keep the secret for your life. 
And all you have will be Lord Ronald's, 35 

When you are man and wife." 

"If I'm a beggar born," she said, 
" I will speak out, for I dare not lie. 

Pull off, pull off, the brooch of gold. 

And fling the diamond necklace by." 40 

"Nay now, my child," said x\lice the nurse, 

" But keep the secret all ye can." 
She said, "Not so: but I will know 

If there be any faith in man." 

"Nay now, what faith.?" said Alice the nurse, 45 
"The man will cleave unto his right." 

"And he shall have it," the lady replied, 
"Tho' I should die to-night." 

"Yet give one kiss to your mother dearf 

Alas, my child, I sinn'd for thee." 50 

"O mother, mother, mother," she said, 
"So strange it seems to me. 



234 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

"Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear, 

My mother dear, if this be so, 
And lay your hand upon my head, 55 

And bless me, mother, ere I go." 

She clad herself in a russet gown, 

She was no longer Lady Clare: 
She went by dale, and she went by down. 

With a single rose in her hair. 60 

The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought 

Leapt up from where she lay, 
Dropt her head in the maiden's hand, 

And follow'd her all the way. 

Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower: 65 
"O Lady Clare, you shame your worth! 

Why come you drest like a village maid. 
That are the flower of the earth? " 

" If I come drest like a village maid, 

I am but as my fortunes are: 70 

I am a beggar born," she said, 
"And not the Lady Clare." 

"Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, 
" For I am yours in word and in deed. 

Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, 75 

"Your riddle is hard to read." 



73. Lord Ronald' ; the necessity of accenting Ronald here, on t! 
second syllable, is one of the marks of the ballad structure. 



I 



SIXTH YEAR — EIGHTH MONTH 235 

O and proudly stood she up ! 

Her heart within her did not fail; 
She look'd into Lord Ronald's eyes, 

And told him all her nurse's tale. 80 

He laugh 'd a laugh of merry scorn; 

He turn'd and kiss'd her where she stood; 
"If you are not the heiress born, 

And I," said he, "the next in blood — 

" If you are not the heiress born, 85 

And I," said he, "the lawful heir, 
We two will wed to-morrow morn. 

And you shall still be Lady Clare." 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE 

Word was brought to the Danish king, 

(Hurry !) 
That the love of his heart lay suffering. 
And pined for the comfort his voice would bring; 

(Oh, ride as if you were flying!) 5 

Better he loves each golden curl 
On the brow of that Scandinavian girl 
Than his rich crown -jewels of ruby and pearl; 

And his Rose of the Isles is dying. 

Thirty nobles saddled with speed; 10 

(Hurry!) 
Each one mounted a gallant steed 
Which he kept for battle and days of need; 
77. O and proudly, another ballad form. 



236 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

(Oh, ride as though you were flying!) 
Spurs were stuck in the foaming flank, 15 

Worn-out chargers staggered and sank; 
Bridles were slackened and girths were burst; 
But, ride as they would, the king rode first. 

For his Rose of the Isles lay dying. 

His nobles are beaten, one by one; 2C 

(Hurry !) 
They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward gone; 
The little fair page now follows alone. 

For strength and for courage trying. 
The king looked back at that faithful child, 25 

Wan was the face that answering smiled. 
They passed the drawbridge with clattering din, 
Then he dropped, and only the king rode in 

Where his Rose of the Isles lay dying. 

The king blew a blast on his bugle-horn, 30 

(Silence!) 
No answer came, but faint and forlorn 
An echo returned on the cold gray morn. 

Like the breath of a spirit sighing; 
The castle portal stood grimly wide; 35 j 

None welcomed the king from that weary ride ! ] 

For, dead in the light of the dawning day, 
The pale, sweet form of the welcomer lay, 

Who had yearned for his voice while dying. 



The panting steed with a drooping crest 

Stood weary; 
The king returned from the chamber of rest. 
The thick sobs choking in his breast. 



i 



SIXTH YEAR — EIGHTH MONTH 237 

And that dumb companion eying, 
The tears gushed forth, which he strove to check; 45 
He bowed his head on his charger's neck, — 
"O steed that every nerve didst strain. 
Dear steed ! our ride hath been in vain 

To the halls where my love lay dying." 

Caroline Elizabeth Norton 



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A HANDBOOK OF HEALTH 

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RIVERSIDE EDUCATIONAL MONOGRAPHS 

Edited by HENRY SUZZALLO 
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Atwood's The Theory and Practice of the Kindergarten .75 

Ba'ley's Art Education .75 

Betts's New Ideals in Rural Schools .75 

Betts's The Recitation .75 

Bloomfield's Vocational Guidance of Youth .75 

Cabot's Volunteer Help to the Schools .75 

Campagnac's The Teaching of Composition .40 

Cole's Industrial Education in Elementary Schools .40 

Cooley's Language Teaching in the Grades .40 

Cubberley's Changing Conceptions of Education .40 

Cubberley's The Improvement of Rural Schools .40 

Dewey's Interest and Effort in Education .75 

Dewey's Moral Principles in Education .40 

Dooley's The Education of the Ne'er-Do-Well .75 

Earhart's Teaching Children to Study .75 

Eliot's Education for Efficiency .40 

Eliot's Concrete and Practical in Modern Education .40 

Emerson's Education .40 

Evans's The Teaching of High School Mathematics .40 

Fairchild's The Teaching of Poetry in the High School .75 

Fiske's The Meaning of Infancy .40 

Freeman's The Teaching of Handwriting .75 

Haliburton and Smith's Teaching Poetry in the Grades .75 

Hartwell's The Teaching of History .40 

Haynes's Economics in the Secondary Schools .75 

Hill's The Teaching of Civics .75 

Home's The Teacher as Artist .40 

Hyde's The Teacher's Philosophy .40 

Jenkins's Reading in the Primary Grades .75 

Judd's The Evolution of a Democratic School System .75 

Kendall and Stryker's History in the Elementary Grades .75 

Kilpatrick's The Montessori System Examined .40 

Leonard's English Composition as a Social Problem .75 

Lewis's Democracy's High School .75 

Maxwell's The Observation of Teaching .75 
Meredith's The Educational Bearings of Modern Psychology .75 

Palmer's Ethical and Moral Instruction in the Schools .40 

Palmer's Self-Cultivation in English .40 

Palmer's The Ideal Teacher .40 

Palmer's Trades and Professions .40 

Perry's Status of the Teacher .40 

Prosser's The Teacher and Old Age .75 

Russell's Economy in Secondary Education .40 

Smith's Establishing Industrial Schools .75 

Snedden's The Problem of Vocational Education .40 

Suzzallo's The Teaching of Primary Arithmetic .75 

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Swift's Speech Defects in School Children . .75 

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Thorndike's Individuality ,40 

Trowbridge's The Home School ,75 

Weeks's The People's School .75 
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HOW TO STUDY 
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Professor of Ei.ementary Education^ Teachers College, Colianbia University. 



Every teacher, student, and parent should read this 
book, — perhaps the most fundamentally important 
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The changes necessary to be made in the schools in ord 
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Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. 

OuiUa's Dog of Flanders, etc. 

Kwnig's Jaikanapes, etc. 

Martiiieuu's Tlie Peasant and the Prince. 

Sliakespeare'sMidsuiunierNiglit's Dream. 

Shakespeare's Tetupe.st. 

Irving's Life of (ioldsniith. 

Tennyson's Gareth and LjTiette, etc. 

The Song of Roland. 

Malory's Merlin and Sir Biiliii. 

Beownlf. 

Spnuser's Faerie Queene. Book I. 

Dickens's Tale of Two Cities. 

Prose and Poetry of Cardinal Newman. 

Shakespeare's Henry V. 

De Qnincey's Joan of .\rc, etc. 

Scott's Quentin Durward. 

Carlyle's Heroes and Hero-Worship. 

Longfellow's Autoljiographicaf Poems, 

Slielley's Poems. 

Lowell's My Garden Acqnaintauce, etc. 

Lamb's Essays of Klia. 

IT'J. Emerson's Essays. 

Kate Douglas Wiggin's Flag-Raising. 

Kate Donglas Wiggin's Finding a Home. 

Wliittier's Autobiograpliical Poems. 

Burronglis's Afoot and Adoat. 

Bacon's Essays. 

Selections from John Ruskin. 

King Artlnir Stories from Malory. 

Palmer's Odyssey. 

Goldsmith's The Good-Natured Man. 

Goldsmith's Slie Stoops to Conquer. 

01<1 Englisli and Scottish Ballads. 

Sliakespenre's Kim; Le:ir. 

Moores's Life of Lincoln. 

Thoreau's Camping in the Maine Woods. 

ISS. Huxley's Antobiography, and Flssays. 

Byron's Childe' Harold, Canto IV, etc. 

Wasliington's Farewell Address, and Web- 
ster's Bunker Hill Oration. 

The Second Shepherds' Play, etc. 

Mrs. Gaskell's Crauford. 

Williivms's ^Eneid. 

Irving's Bracebridge Hall. Selections. 

Thorean's Walden. 

Slieridan's The Rivals. 

Parton's Captains of Induatrv- Selected. 
I'.K). Macaul.ay'sLordClive and W. Hastings. 

Howells's Tlie Rise of Silas Lapham. 

Harris's liltlle Mr.Thimblefinger Stories. 

Jewett's The Niglit Before Thanksgiving. 

Shnm way's Nib Unigenlied. 

Sheffield's Old Testament Narrative. 

Powers's A Dickens Reader. 

Goethe's Faust. Part I. 

Cooper's The Spy. 

Aldric^h's Story of a Bad Boy. 

Warner's Being a Boy. 

Kate Donglas Wiggin's Polly Oliver's Pro- 
blem. 

Milton's Areopagitica, etc. 

Shakespeare's Romeo anil .Juliet. 

Hemingway's Le Morte Arthur. 

Moorea's Life of Columbus. 



215. Bret Harte's Tennessee's Partner, etc. 
'Mii. Ralph Roister Doister. 

217. Gorboduc. (In preparation.') 

218. Selected Lyrics from Wordsworth, Keata, 

and Shelley. 
21J. Selected Lyrics from Dryden, Collins, 
Gray, Cowper, and Burns. 

220. Southern Poems. 

221. Macanlay's Speeches on Copyright; Lin- 

coln's Cooper Union Address. 

222. Briggs's College Life. 

2'23. Selections from the Prose Writings of Mat- 
thew Arnold. 

224. Perry's American Mind and American 

Idealism. 

225. Newman's University Subjects. 

22G. Burronglis's Studies in Nature and Lit- 
erature. 
227. Bryce's Promoting Good Citizenship. 
'228. Selected English Letters. 

229. Jewett's Play-Day Stories. 

230. Grenfell's Adrift on an Ice-Pan. 

231. Muir's Stickeen. 

232. Harte's Waif of the Plains, etc. {In 

pi e pa nil i mi.) 

233. Tennyson's The Coming of Arthur, the 

Holy Grail and the Passing of Arthur. 
2.'^4. Selected Essays. 
235. Briggs's To College Girls. 
23(j. Lowell's Literary Essays. (Selected.) 

238. Short Stories. 

239. Selections from American Poetry. 

240. Howells's Tlie Sleeping Car, and The 

Parlor Car. 
24t. Mills's The Story of a Thousand- Year 
Pine, etc. 

242. Eliot's Training for an Effective Life. 

243. Bryant's Iliad. Abridged Edition. 
'244. Lockwood's English Sonnets. 

'2-15. Antin's At School in the Promised Land. 
240. Shepard's Shakespeare Questions. 

247. Muir's The Boyhood of a Naturalist. 

248. Boswell's Life of Johnson. 

'24'J. Palmer's Self-Cultivation in English, and 

The Glory of the Imperfect. 
2.50. Sheridan's The School for Scandal. 
251. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and 

Piers the Ploughman. 
2.52. Howells's A Modern In.stance. 
'irc. Helen Keller's The Story of My Life. 
254. Rittenhouse's The Little Book of Modern 

Verse. 
2.55. Rittenhouse's The Little Book of Anieri 

can Poets. 
2.50. Richards's High Tide. 

257. Kipling Stories and Poems Every Child 

Should Know, Book 1. 

258. Kipling Stories and Poems Every Child 

Should Know, Book II. 

259. Burroughs's The Wit of a Duck and Other 

Papers. 

200. Irving's Tales from the Alhambra. 

201. Liberty, Peace, and .lustice. 

202. A Treasury of War Poetry. 

203. Peabody's'The Piper. 



{See also back cover) 



(75) 



RIVERSIDE LITERATURE SERIES 



(Continued) 
EXTRA NUMBERS 



A Americar Authors and their Birthdays. 

£ Biographical Sketches of American Au- 
thors. 

C Warriner ' s Teaching of English Classics 
in the Grades. 

D Scudder's Literature in School. 

F Longfellow Leaflets. 

O Whittier Leaflets. 

Jf Holmes Leaflets. 

/ Thomas's HowtoTeachEnglishClassics. 

J Holbrook's Northland Heroes. 

A' Minimum College Requirements in 
English for Study. 

L The Riverside Song Book. 

M Lowell's Fable for Critics. 

N Selections from American Authors. 

O Lowell Leaflets. 

P Holbrook's Hiawatha Primer. 

Q Selections from English Authors. 



R Hawthorne ' s Twice-Told Tales. Solectc ; 

iS' Irving 's Essays from Sketch Book. S. 
lected. 

T Literature for the Study of Language. 

U A Dramatization of the Song of Hia- 
watha. 

V Holbrook's Book of Mature Myths. 

W Brown's In the Days of Giants. 

A' Poemsfor the Study of Language. 

y Warner's In the Wilderness. 

Z Nine Selected Poems. 

A A Coleridge's The Ancient Mariner and 
Lowell's The Vision of Sir Launfal. 

BB Foe's The Raven, Whittier 's Snow- 
Bound, and Longfellow's The Court- 
ship of Miles Standish. 1 

CC Selections for Study and Memorizing. 

1>D Sharp's The Year Out-of-Doors. i 

/;/; Poems for Memorizing. 



LIBRARY BINDING 

»35-i36. Chaucer's Prologue, The Knight's Tale, and The Nun's Priest's Tale. 
i6o. Spenser's Faerie Queene, Book I. 

Carlyle's Heroes and Hero- Worship. 

Shelley's Poems. Selected. 

Bacon's Essays. 

Selections from the Works of John Ruskin. 
181-182. Goldsmith's The Good-Natured Man, and She Stoops to Conquer. 
183. Old English and Scottish Ballads. 

8. Huxley's Autobiography and Selected Essays. 

Second Shepherd's Play, Everyman, etc. 

Milton's Areopagitica, etc. 

Ralph Roister Doister. 

Briggs's College Life. 

Selections from the Prose Works of Matthew Arnold. 

Perry's The American Mind and American Idealism. 

Newman's University Subjects. 

Burroughs's Studies in Nature and Literature. 

Bryce's Promoting Good Citizenship. 

Briggs's To College Girls. 

Selected Literary Essays from James Russell Lowell. 

Eliot's The Training for an Effective Life. 

Lockwood's English Sonnets. 

Shepard's Shakespeare Questions. 

Boswell's Life of Johnson. Abridged. 

Sheridan's The School for Scandal. 

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and Piers the Ploughman. 

Howells's A Modem Instance. 

Rittenhouse's The Little Book of Modern Verse. 

Rittenhouse's The Little Book of American Poets. 

Richards 's High Tide. 

Minimum College Requirements in English for Study. 



166. 
168. 
177. 
178. 



187-1 

191. 

211. 

216. 

222. 

223. 

224. 

225. 

226. 

227. 

2jfi. 
236. 
242. 
244. 
246. 
248. 
250. 
251- 
252. 

254. 
255. 
256. 
K. 



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Longfellow's Evangeline. 

Longfellow's Courtship of Miles Standisli. 

Dianiatizatioii of Miles StandisU. 

Whittier's Snow-Boiind, etc. 

Whittier's Mabel Martin. 

Holmes's Grandmother's Story. 

8, 9. Hawthorne's Grand lather's Chair. 

Hawtliorne's Biograpliical Series. 

Longfellow's Children's Hour, etc. 

14. Longfellow's Song of Hiawatha. 
Lowell's Under the Old Elm, etc. 
Uayard Taylor's Lars. 

15. Hawtliorne's Wonder-Book. 
'20. Franklin's Autobiography. 

Franklin's Poor Richard's Almanac, etc. 
'ij. Hawthorne's Tauglewood Tales. 

Washington's Farewell Addresses, etc. 

2(1. Longfellow's Golden Legend. 
Thoreau's Forest Tree.s, etc. 
Burronghs's Birds and Bees. 
Hawthorne's Little Daffydowndilly, etc. 
Lowell's Vision of Sir Launfal, etc. 
Holmes's My Hinit after the Captain, etc. 
Lincoln's Getty.sburg Speecli, etc. 
-iy>. Longff How's Tales of a Wayside Inn. 
Burronglis's Sharp Eyes, etc. 
Warner's A-Hnnting of the Deer, etc. 
Longfellow's Building of the Ship, etc. 
Lowell's Books and Libraries, etc. 
Hawtliorne's Tales of the White Hills. 
Whittier's Tent on the Beach, etc. 
Emer.sou's Fortune of the Repniilic, etc. 
Bryant's Ulysses among the Bliieaci.ans. 
Edgeworth's Waste not. Want not, etc. 
Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome. 
Old Testament Stories. 
48. Scudder's Faiiles and Folk Stories. 
.'')0. Andersen's Stories. 
Living's Rip Van Winkle, etc. 
Irvuig's The Voyage, etc. 
Scott's Lady of the Lake. 
Bryant's Tliaiiatopsis, etc. 
Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice. 
Webster's First Bunker Hill Oration. 
Dickens's Christmas Carol. 
Dickens's Cricket im the Hearth. 
Ver.se and I'rose for Beginners in Reading. 
Gl. The Sir Roger de Coverley Papers. 
Fi.ske's War of Lidependenra. 
Longfellow's Paul Revere 's Ride, etc. 
(!(■>. Lambs' Tales from Shake.speare. 
Siiakespeare's Julius C:esar. 
C.ldsiMith's Deserted Village, etc. 
Hawthorne's The Old Manse, etc. 
71. Selection from Whittier's Child Life. 
Milton's Minor Poems. 
Tennyson's Enoch Arden, etc. 
Gray's Elegy ; Cowper's .John Gilpin. 
Sc;mlder's George Washington. 
Wordsworth's Intimations of Immortality. 
Bnrns's Cotter's Saturday Night, etc. 
GoMsmith's Viiar of Wakefield. 
Lamb's Old Chiua, etc. 



Coleridge's Ancient Mariner ; Campbell's 

Lochiel's Warning, etc. 
Holmes's Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table. 
Hawthorne's Twice-Told Tales. 
Eliot's Silas Marner. 
Dana's Two Years Before the Mast. 
Hughes's Tom Brown's School Days. 
Scott's Ivanhoe. 
Defoe's Robinson Crusoe. 
Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin. 
00. Swift'.j Gulliver's Voyages. 
Hawthorne's Hou.se of the Seven Gab'es. 
Burronghs's A Bunch of Herbs, etc. 
Shakespeare's As You Like It. 
Mil I oil's Paradise Lost. Books I-III. 
".18. Cuoiiir's Last of the Mohicans. t 

Tennyson's Coming of Arthur, etc. I' 
Burke's Conciliatiini with the Colonies.* 
Pope's Iliad. Books I, VI, XXII, XXH*. 
Macaulay's Johnson and Goldsmith. 
Macaulay's Milton. 
Macaulay's Addison. 
Carlyle's Ess.ay on Burns. 
Shakespeare's Macbeth. 
lOS. Grimms' Tales. 
Biuiyau's Pilgrim's Progress. 
De Qiiiucey's Flight of a Tartar Tribe. 
Teuny.soii's Princess. 
Cranch's iEneid. Books I-III. 
Poems from Emerson. 
Peabody's Old Greek Folk Stories. 
Browning's Pied Piper of Hainelin, etc. 
Shakesjieare's Hamlet. 
118. Stories from the Arabi.an Nights. 
I'JO. Foe's Poems and Tales. 
Speech by Hayne on Foote's Resolution. 
Speech by Webster in Reply to Hayne. 
Lowi U's Democracy, etc. 
Ahlricb's The Criii.se of the Dolphin. 
Dryilen's Palamon and Ar<Mte. 
Ruskin's King of the Golden River, et( 
Keats's Ode on a Grecian Urn, etc. 
Byron's Prisoner of Chilhm, etc. 
Plato's Judgment of Socrates. 
Emerson's The Superlative, etc. 
Emerson's Nature, etc. 
ArnoM's Sohrab ami Rustuni, etc. 
Schurz's Abraham Lincoln. 
Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel. 
( .aucer's Prologue. 
Chaucer's The Knight's Tale. etc. 
Bryant': Iliad. Bks. I, VI, XXII. XXIV. 
H nvthorne's The Custom House, etc. 
Howells'u DoorstCi- AcfpiaintaiKte, etc 
Thacki'r: s Henry Esmoml. 
Hiaginson's Three Outdoor Papers. 
Hnskin's oe.same and Lilies, 
riiitarcli's .\lexaiider tlie Great. 
Scudder's The Book of Letreiids. 
HavMliorne's The Gentle Boy, etc. 
Longfellow's Gili'S rmoy. 
Pope's Raiie of the Lock. etc. 
Hawthorne's Marble Faun. 



tcJj 



\ 



(See also back covers.) 



(74; 



1E-l)e Kibcrsific llitcracuic &mee 



POEMS FOR THE STUDY 
OF LANGUAGE 

PRESCRIBED IN THE COURSE OF STUDY FOR THE 
COMMON SCHOOLS OF ILLINOIS 

PART THREE 
FOR SEVENTH AND EIGHTH YEARS 

WITH BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
BY 

EVA MARCH TAPPAN 
Revised Edition, 1919 



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OFFICIAL ENDORSEMENT A ^^Os> 

The publication of this book was approved and endorsed by th( 
Standing Committee on the IlHnois State Course of Study at i 
special meeting held during the convention of the Illinois Stat< 
Teachers' Association at Springfield, Illinois, December 27-29, 1904 



The present revised edition contains the poems recom 
mended for language study, in the latest (1919) revision oi 
the Official Course of Study, with the exception of sever 
omitted because of copyright restrictions or because of th« 
limitations of space. The collection is available in three parts 
each covering two years. Suggestions to Teachers are printec 
in Part One, and Biographical Sketches in Part Three. 



COPYRIGHT 1905 AND I907 BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO, 
COPYRIGHT, I913 AND I9I9, BY^ HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 



xy 



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



Acknowledgment is due to Charles Scribner's Sons for the use ol 
The Ruby-Crowned Kinglet, taken from The Toiling of Felix ano 
Other Poems, by Henry van Dyke, for Nightfall in Dordrecht, taker 
from Second Book of Verse, by Eugene Field, and for Requiem, bj 
Robert Louis Stevenson; to D. Appleton & Co. for The Story of tht 
Wood from Little Folks Down South, by Frank L. Stanton, and fo) 
the poems quoted from William Cullen Bryant; to Little, Browi 
and Company for Down to Sleep, by Helen Hunt Jackson; to E. P 
Dutton and Company for Christmas Everywhere, by Phillips Brooks, 
and The Bluebird, by Emily Huntington Miller; to Fleming H 
Revell Company for Our Flag, taken from Lyrics of Love, by Mar- 
garet Sangster. 

Thanks are also due to the following authors for courteous permis- 
sion to use the poems mentioned: to Eben E. Rexford for The Blue- 
bird; and to Richard Burton for Christmastide. 



1!Cl)t JGlibersiitie Srese 

CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 



©CU53e4i!8 '""' "8 1919 



CONTENTS 



SEVENTH YEAR 



First Month 

Abou Ben Adhem 

. YUSSOUF 

V Sandalphon 

'Second Month 

The Tiger 
■ To A Waterfowl 
^ To Autumn 

Grizzly 



Leigh Hunt 239 

James Russell Lowell 239 

Henry Wads worth Longfellow 241 



William Blake 243 

William Cullen Bryant 244 

John Keats 245 

Bret Harte 246 



iThird Month 

Hunting Song Sir Walter Scott 247 

The Burial op Sir John Moore Charles Wolfe 248 
Indian Summer Jolm Greenleaf Whittier 249 

The Blind Boy Colley Gibber 250 



Fourth Month 

King Robert of Sicily 
Alice Brand 
Under the Holly Bough 
I SAW Three Ships 



H. W. Longfellow 251 
Sir Walter Scott 258 
Charles Mackay 263 

Old English Carol 264 



fifth Month 

Prelude to Evangeline 
The Owl Critic 



H. W. Longfellow 265 
James T. Fields 267 



IV 



CONTENTS 



Sixth Month 

How Sleep the Brave 
How They Brought te 

Ghent to Aix 
The Revenge 
Concord Hymn 
O Captain! My Captain! 



William Collins 

E Good News from 

Robert Browning 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

Ralph Waldo Emerson 

Walt Whitman 



Warren's Address to the American Soldiers 

John Pierpont 



Seventh Month 
Sir Galahad 
The Noble Nature 
Alexander Selkirk 
The Last Leaf 



Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

Ben Jonson 

William Cowper 

Oliver Wendell Holmes 



I 



270 
273 
279 

280 

281 

I 

282 
285 
286 

287 



Eighth Month 

To A Mountain Daisy 
Song on May Morning 
To A Skylark 
Requiem 



Robert Burns 289 

John Milton 290 

Percy Bysshe Shelley 290 

Robert Louis Stevenson 29-1 



EIGHTH YEAR 



First Month 
Herve Riel 
Opportunity 



Robert Browning 295 
Edward Rowland Sill 391 



The Deacon's Masterpiece 



O. W. Holmes 302 



Fourth Month 

A Christmas Hymn 
Ring Out, Wild Bells 



Alfred Dommett 306 
Alfred, Lord Tennyson 308 



Fifth Month 

My Native Land Sir Walter Scott 309 

Dear Land of all my Love Sidney Lanier 310 

Old Ironsides Oliver Wendell Holmes 310 



CONTENTS V 

Sixth Month 

! Abraham Lincoln William CuUen Bryant 311 

Co'mmemoration Ode (Selections) J. R. Lowell 312 
1 One Country Frank L. Stanton 315 

I 
^Seventh Month 

! The Vision of Sir Launfal J. R. Lowell 316 

Flower in the Crannied Wall 
I Alfred, Lord Tennyson 328 

Eighth Month 

I Ulysses Alfred, Lord Tennyson 328 

; The Chambered Nautilus O. W. Holmes 331 

; To the Dandelion James Russell Lowell 333 

; For a' That and a' That Robert Burns 335 



Biographical Sketches 

( Sir Walter Scott 337 

( William Cullen Bryant 339 

( Ralph Waldo Emerson 341 

I Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 343 

John Greenleaf Whittier 347 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 349 

Oliver Wendell Holmes 352 

Robert Browning 354 

James Russell Lowell 356 



P0E3IS FOR THE STUDY OF 
LANGUAGE 

SEVENTH YEAR 
FIRST MONTH 

ABOU BEN ADHEM 

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase !) 

Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, 

And saw, within the moonhght in his room. 

Making it rich, and hke a hly in bloom, 

An angel writing in a book of gold : — 5 

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold. 

And to the presence in the room he said, 

"What writest thou? " — The vision rais'd its head. 

And with a look made of all sweet accord, 

Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." 10 

"And is mine one? " said Abou. "Nay, not so," 

Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low. 

But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then. 

Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." 

The angel wrote and vanish'd. The next night 15 

It came again with a great wakening light. 

And show'd the names whom love of God had bless'd, 

And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. 

Leigh Hunt 

YUSSOUF 

A STRANGER came one night to Yussouf 's tent. 
Saying, "Behold one outcast and in dread. 
Against whose life the bow of power is bent. 
Who flies, and hath not where to lay his head; 



240 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

I come to thee for shelter and for food, 
To Yussouf, called through all our tribes 'The 
Good.'" 



"This tent is mine," said Yussouf, "but no more 

Than it is God's; come in, and be at peace; 

Freely shalt thou partake of all my store 

As I of His who buildeth over these 

Our tents his glorious roof of night and day, 

And at whose door none ever yet heard Nay." 

So Yussouf entertained his guest that night, 
And, waking him ere day, said: "Here is gold; 
My swiftest horse is saddled for thy flight; 
Dejjart before the prying day grow bold." 
As one lamp lights another, nor grows less. 
So nobleness enkindleth nobleness. 

That inward light the stranger's face made grand. 
Which shines from all self -conquest ; kneeling low, 2 
He bowed his forehead upon Yussouf 's hand. 
Sobbing: "O Sheik, I cannot leave thee so; 
I will repay thee; all this thou hast done 
Unto that Ibrahim who slew thy son!" 

"Take thrice the gold," said Yussouf, "for with thee 
Into the desert, never to return, 2 

My one black thought shall ride away from me; 
First born, for whom by day and night I yearn, 
Balanced and just are all of God's decrees; 
Thou art avenged, my first-born, sleep in peace!" 30 

James Russell Lowell 



SEVENTH YEAR — FIRST MONTH 24-1 

SANDALPHON 

Have you read in the Talmud of old, 
*In the Legends the Rabbins have told 

Of the limitless realms of the air, 
Have you read it, — the marvelous story 
Of Sandalphon, the Angel of Glory, 5 

Sandalphon, the Angel of Prayer? 

How, erect, at the outermost gates 
Of the City Celestial he waits, 

With his feet on the ladder of light. 
That, crowded with angels unnumbered, 10 
By Jacob was seen, as he slumbered 

Alone in the desert at night? 

The Angels of Wind and of Fire 
Chant only one hymn, and expire 

With the song's irresistible stress; 15 

Expire in their rapture and wonder, 
As harp-strings are broken asunder 

By music they throb to express. 

But serene in the rapturous throng. 

Unmoved by the rush of the song, 20 

With eyes unimpassioned and slow. 
Among the dead angels, the deathless 
Sandalphon stands listening breathless 

To sounds that ascend from below; — 

From the spirits on earth that adore, 25 

From the souls that entreat and implore 



242 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

In the fervor and passion of prayer; 
From the hearts that are broken with losses, 
And weary with dragging the crosses 

Too heavy for mortals to bear, 30 

And he gathers the prayers as he stands, 
And they change into flowers in his hands, 

Into garlands of purple and red; 
And beneath the great arch of the portal, 
Through the streets of the City Immortal 35 

Is wafted the fragrance they shed. 

It is but a legend, I know, — 

A fable, a phantom, a show, i 

Of the ancient Rabbinical lore; i 

Yet the old mediaeval tradition, 40 

The beautiful, strange superstition, 

But haunts me and holds me the more. 

When I look from my window at night, I 

And the welkin above is all white, ' 

All throbbing and panting with stars, 45 

Among them majestic is standing 
Sandalphon the angel, expanding 

His pinions in nebulous bars. 

And the legend, I feel, is a part 

Of the hunger and thirst of the heart. 

The frenzy and fire of the brain, 
That grasps at the fruitage forbidden, 
The golden pomegranates of Eden, 

To quiet its fever and pain. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 



SEVENTH YEAR — SECOND MONTH 243 
SECOND MONTH 

THE TIGER 

Tiger, tiger, burning bright 
In the forests of the night, 
What immortal hand or eye 
Could frame thy fearful symmetry? 

In what distant deeps or skies 5 

Burnt the fire of thine eyes? 
On what wings dare he aspire? 
What the hand dare seize the fire? 

And what shoulder and what art. 

Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 10 

And when thy heart began to beat. 

What dread hand, and what dread feet? 

What the hammer? What the chain? 

In what furnace was thy brain? 

What the anvil? What dread grasp 15 

Dare its deadly terrors clasp? 

When the stars threw down their spears, 

And watered heaven with their tears. 

Did He smile his work to see? 

Did He who made the lamb make thee? 20 

Tiger, tiger, burning bright 
In the forests of the night. 
What immortal hand or eye 
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? 

William Blake 



244 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

TO A WATERFOWL 

Whither, midst falling dew, 
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,' 
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue I 

Thy solitary way? I 

Vainly the fowler's eye 5 

Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong. 
As, darkly ])ainted on the crimson sky, 

Thy figure floats along. 

Seek'st thou the plashy brink 
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, IC 

Or where the rocking billows rise and sink 

On the chafed ocean side? 

There is a Power whose care 
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast — 
The desert and illimitable air — 

Lone wandering, but not lost. 

All day thy wings have fanned. 
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere. 
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land. 

Though the dark night is near. 

And soon that toil shall end ; 
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, 
And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend. 

Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. 



Thou'rt gone! the abyss of heaven 
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my heart 



il 



SEVENTH YEAR — SECOND MONTH 245 

Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, 
And shall not soon depart. 

He, who, from zone to zone, 
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 
In the long way that I must tread alone 31 

Will lead my steps aright. 

William Cullen Bryant 



TO AUTUMN 

I 

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, 

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; 
Conspiring with him how to load and bless 

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run; 
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, 5 

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; 

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells 

W'ith a sweet kernel; to set budding more. 
And still more, later flowers for the bees, 
Until they think warm days will never cease, 10 

For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells. 

Ill 

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? 

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, — 
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, 

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; 15 

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn 

Among the river-sallows, borne aloft 

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; 



246 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; 
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft 20 
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft; 
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. 

John Keats 



GRIZZLY 

Coward, — of heroic size, 

In whose lazy muscles lies 

Strength we fear and yet despise; 

Savage, — whose relentless tusks 

Are content with acorn husks; 

Robber, — whose exploits ne'er soared 

O'er the bee's or squirrel's hoard; 

Whiskered chin, and feeble nose. 

Claws of steel on baby toes, — 

Here, in solitude and shade, 10 

Shambling, shuffling plantigrade. 

Be thy courses undismayed! 

Here, where Nature makes thy bed. 
Let thy rude, half-human tread 

Point to hidden Indian springs. 
Lost in ferns and fragrant grasses, 

Hovered o'er by timid wings. 
Where the wood-duck lightly passes. 
Where the wild bee holds her sweets, 
Epicurean retreats. 
Fit for thee, and better than 
Fearful spoils of dangerous man. 
In thy fat-jowled deviltry 
Friar Tuck shall live in thee; 



SEVENTH YEAR — THIRD MONTH 247 

Thou mayest levy tithe and dole; 25 

Thou shalt spread the woodland cheer, 
'From the pilgrim taking toll; 

Match thy cunning with his fear; 
Eat, and drink, and have thy fill; 
Yet remain an outlaw still! 30 

Bret Harte 

THIRD MONTH 

HUNTING SONG 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 

On the mountain dawns the day. 

All the jolly chase is here. 

With hawk and horse and hunting-spear! 

Hounds are in their couples yelling, 5 

Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, 

Merrily, merrily, mingle they, 

"Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 

The mist has left the mountain gray, 10 

Springlets in the dawn are streaming. 

Diamonds on the brake are gleaming: 

And foresters have busy been 

To track the buck in thicket green; 

Now we come to chant our lay, 16 

"Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 

To the green -wood haste away; 

We can show you where he lies. 

Fleet of foot and tall of size; 20 



248 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

We can show the marks he made, 

When 'gainst the oak his antlers frayed; \ 

You shall see him brought to bay, 

"Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Louder, louder chants the lay, 25 

Waken, lords and ladies gay! 
Tell them youth and mirth and glee 
Run a course as well as we; 
Time, stern huntsman, who can balk, 
Stanch as hound and fleet as hawk? 30 

. Think of this and rise with day. 
Gentle lords and ladies gay. 

Sir Walter Scott 



THE BURUL OF SIR JOHN MOORE AT 
CORUNNA 

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note. 
As his corse to the rampart we hurried; 
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 
O'er the grave where our hero we buried. 

We buried him darkly at dead of night, 5 

The sods with our bayonets turning; 
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light. 
And the lantern dimly burning. 

No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 
Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; 10 
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest. 
With his martial cloak around him. 



I 



SEVENTH YEAR — THIRD MONTH 249 

Few and short were the prayers we said, 

And we spoke not a word of sorrow; 

But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, 15 

And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 

We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, 

And smoothed down his lonely pillow, 

That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, 

And we far away on the billow! 20 

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone. 
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him; 
But little he '11 reck, if they let him sleep on 
In the grave where a Briton has laid him. 

But half of our heavy task was done, 25 

When the clock tolled the hour for retiring; 
And we heard the distant and random gun 
That the foe was sullenly firing. 

Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 
From the field of his fame fresh and gory; 30 

We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, 
But we left him alone with his glory ! 

Charles Wolfe 

INDIAN SUMMER 

From gold to gray 

Our mild, sweet day 
Of Indian summer fades too soon; 

But tenderly 

Above the sea 5 

Hangs, white and calm, the hunter's moon. 



250 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

In its pale fire 

The village spire 
Shows like the zodiac's spectral lance; 

The painted walls 10 

Whereon it falls 
Transfigured stand in marble trance. 

John Greenleaf Whittier 



THE BLIND BOY 

Oh, say what is that thing called Light, 

Which I must ne'er enjoy; 
What are the blessings of the Sight: 

Oh, tell your poor blind boy ! 

You talk of wondrous things you see; 5 

You say the sun shines bright; 
I feel him warm, but how can he 

Or make it day or night? 

My day or night myself I make 

Whene'er I sleep or play; 10 

And could I ever keep awake 

With me 't were always day. 

With heavy sighs I often hear 

You mourn my hapless woe; 
But sure with patience I can bear 15 

A loss I ne'er can know. 

Then let not what I cannot have 

My cheer of mind destroy : 
Whilst thus I sing, I am a king, 

Although a poor blind boy. 20 

Colley Cibber 



SEVENTH YEAR — FOURTH MONTH 251 
FOURTH MONTH 

KING ROBERT OF SICILY 

RbBERT of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane 

And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 

Appareled in magnificent attire, 

With retinue of many a knight and squire. 

On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat 5 

And heard the priest chant the Magnificat. 

And as he listened, o'er and o'er again 

Repeated, like a burden or refrain, 

He caught the words, "Deposuit potentes 

De sede, et exaltavit humiles''; 10 

And slowly lifting up his kingly head. 

He to a learned clerk beside him said, 

"What mean these words? " The clerk made 

answer meet, 
"He has put down the mighty from their seat. 
And has exalted them of low degree." 15 

Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully, 
" 'T is well that such seditious words are sung 
Only by priests and in the Latin tongue; 
For unto priests and people be it known. 
There is no power can push me from my throne ! " 
And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep, 21 
Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep. 

2. Allemaine is Germany. The Germans living on the borders of 
the Rhine were formerly called Alemarmi by their Gallic neighbors, 
and to-day the French name for Germany is Allemagne. 

G. The Magnificat is the song of rejoicing by the Virgin Mary 
when receiving the visit of Elizabeth. See St. Luke's Gospel, chap- 
ter I. In the Roman ('atholic service the Latin words of the song at 
its beginning are Magnificat aniina mca Dominum. 



252 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

When he awoke, it was already night; 

The church was empty, and there was no light, f 

Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint 

Lighted a little space before some saint. 26 

He started from his seat and gazed around, 

But saw no living thing and heard no sound. 

He groped towards the door, but it was locked; 

He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked, 30 ,_ 

And uttered awful threatenings and complaints, 

And imprecations upon men and saints. 

The sounds reechoed from the roof and walls 

As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls. 

At length the sexton, hearing from without 35 

The tumult of the knocking and the shout. 
And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer, 
Came with his lantern, asking, "Who is there?" 
Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said, 
"Open: 't is I, the King! Art thou afraid.^" 40 

The frightened sexton, muttering, with a curse, 
"This is some drunken vagabond, or worse!" 
Turned the great key and flung the portal wide; 
A man rushed by him at a single stride, 
Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak, 45 

Who neither turned, not looked at him, nor spoke. 
But leaped into the blackness of the night, 
And vanished like a specter from his sight. 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane 
And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 
Despoiled of his magnificent attire. 
Bareheaded, breathless, and besprent with mire. 



SEVENTH YEAR — FOURTH MONTH 253 

With sense of wrong and outrage desperate, 
Strode on and thundered at the palace gate; 
Rushed through the courtyard, thrusting in his 

rage 
To right and left each seneschal and page, 56 

And hurried up the broad and sounding stair, 
His white face ghastly in the torches' glare. 
From hall to hall he passed with breathless speed ; 
Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed, 60 

Until at last he reached the banquet-room, 
Blazing with light, and breathing with perfume. 

There on the dais sat another king, 

Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet-ring. 

King Robert's self in features, form, and height, 65 

But all transfigured with angelic light! 

It was an Angel; and his presence there 

With a divine effulgence filled the air. 

An exaltation, piercing the disguise. 

Though none the hidden Angel recognize. 70 

A moment speechless, motionless, amazed. 

The throneless monarch on the Angel gazed. 

Who met his look of anger and surprise 

With the divine compassion of his eyes; 

Then said, "Who art thou.'' andwhycom'st thou 

here?" 75 

To which King Robert answered with a sneer, 
"I am the King, and come to claim my own 
From an impostor, who usurps my throne! " 
And suddenly, at these audacious words, 
Up sprang tiie angry guests, and drew their swords ; 



254 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

The Angel answered, with unruffled brow, SI 

"Nay, not the King, but the King's Jester, thou 
Henceforth shalt wear the bells and scalloped cape, 
And for thy counselor shalt lead an ape; 
Thou shalt obey my servants when they call, 85 

And wait upon my henchmen in the hall!" 

Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers, 

They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs; 

A group of tittering pages ran before, 

And as they opened wide the folding-door, 90 

His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms, 

The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms. 

And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring 

With the mock plaudits of "Long live the King!" 

Next morning, waking with the day's first beam, 95 
He said within himself, "It was a dream!" 
But the straw rustled as he turned his head; 
There were the cap and bells beside his bed; 
Around him rose the bare, discolored walls; 
Close by, the steeds were champing in their stalls. 
And in the corner, a revolting shape, 101 

Shivering and chattering sat the wretched ape. 
It was no dream; the world he loved so much 
Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch! 

Days came and went; and now returned again 105 
To Sicily the old Saturnian reign; 

82. The king's jester was one of the persons about the king who 
made sport for the court. He was dressed in a motley garb, wliich 
has passed down with changes to that of the modern circus clown. 
The jester, or fool, plays a conspicuous part in Shakespeare's plays. 
Scott describes one in the character of Wamba in Ivanhoe. 

lOG. The fabled reign of the god Saturn was often called " the 
golden age." 



SEVENTH YEAR — FOURTH MONTH 255 

Under the Angel's governance benign 
The happy island danced with corn and M^ine, 
And deep within the mountain's burning breast 
Enceladus, the giant, was at rest. 110 

Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate, 

Sullen and silent and disconsolate. 

Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear. 

With look bewildered and a vacant stare, 

Close shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn, 115 

By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn. 

His only friend the ape, his only food 

What others left, — he still was unsubdued. 

And when the Angel met him on his way, 

And half in earnest, half in jest, would say, 120 

Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel 

The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel, 

"Art thou the King.''" the passion of his woe 

Burst from him in resistless overflow. 

And, lifting high his forehead, he would fling 125 

The haughty answer back, "I am, I am the King!" 

Almost three years were ended; when there came 

Ambassadors of great repute and name 

From Valmond, Emperor of iVllemaine, 

Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane 130 

By letter summoned them forthwith to come 

On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome. 

The Angel with great joy received his guests. 

And gave them presents of embroidered vests, 

110. Enceladus was a Imndred-armed giant, who made war on 
the gods, was killed by Zeus, and buried under Etna. An old myth 
attributes the eruptions of Etna to his restlessness. 



256 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined, 135 

And rings and jewels of the rarest kind. 

Then he departed with them o'er the sea 

Into the lovely land of Italy, 

Whose loveliness was more resplendent made 

By the mere passing of that cavalcade, 140 

With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir 

Of jeweled bridle and of golden spur. 

And lo! among the menials, in mock state. 

Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait. 

His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind, 145 

The solemn ape demurely perched behind, 

King Robert rode, making huge merriment 

In all the country towns through which they went. 

The Pope received them with great pomp and blare 

Of bannered trumpets, on Saint Peter's square, 150 

Giving his benediction and embrace, 

Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. 

While with congratulations and with prayers 

He entertained the Angel unawares, 

Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd, 155 

Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud, 

"I am the King! Look, and behold in me 

Robert, your brother, King of Sicily ! 

This man, who wears my semblance to your eyes. 

Is an impostor in a king's disguise. 160 

Do you not know me? does no voice within 

Answer my cry, and say we are akin.'^" 

The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien, 

Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene; 

The Emperor, laughing, said, "It is strange sport 165 

To keep a madman for thy Fool at court!" 



"I 



SEVENTH YEAR — FOURTH MONTH 257 

And the poor, baffled Jester in disgrace 
Was hustled back among the populace. 

In solemn state the Holy Week went by, 

And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky; 170 

The presence of the Angel, with its light, 

Before the sun rose, made the city bright, 

And with new fervor filled the hearts of men. 

Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again. 

Even the Jester, on his bed of straw, 175 

With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor saw, 

He felt within a power unfelt before, 

And, kneeling humbly on his chamber-floor. 

He heard the rushing garments of the Lord 

Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward. 

And now the visit ending, and once more 181 

Valmond returning to the Danube's shore. 

Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again 

The land was made resplendent with his train. 

Flashing along the towns of Italy 185 

Unto Salerno, and from thence by sea. 

And when once more within Palermo's wall. 

And, seated on the throne in his great hall, 

He heard the Angelus from convent towers. 

As if the better world conversed with ours, 190 

He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher, 

And with a gesture bade the rest retire; 

189. The Angelus or Angelus Domini is a prayer to the Virgin, 
instituted by Pope Urban II. It begins with the words Angelus 
Domini nuntiavit Mariae (the angel of the Lord announced to 
Mary). Then follows the salutation of Gabriel, Ave Maria (Hail, 
Mary). The prayer is recited three times a day at the sound of a 
bell, which is therefore called the Angelus bell. Note line 49 of 
Evangeline, and recall also the well-known picture entitled The An- 
gelus by the French painter, Jean Frangois Millet. 



258 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

And when they were alone, the Angel said, 
"Art thou the King?" Then, bowing down his head, 
King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast, 195 
And meekly answered him: "Thou knowest best! 
My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence. 
And in some cloister's school of penitence. 
Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven, 
Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be shriven!" 200 

I 
The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face 
A holy light illumined all the place. 
And through the open window, loud and clear, 
They heard the monks chant in the chapel near. 
Above the stir and tumult of the street: 205 

"He has put down the mighty from their seat, 
And has exalted them of low degree!" 
And through the chant a second melody 
Rose like the throbbing of a single string: 
"I am an Angel, and thou art the King!" 210 

King Robert, who was standing near the throne, 
Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone! 
But all appareled as in days of old. 
With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold; 
And when his courtiers came, they found him there 
Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer. 216 

Henry Wadsioorth Longfellow 

ALICE BRAND 

Merry it is in the good greenwood, 
When the mavis and merle are singing. 

When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry, 
And the hunter's horn is ringing. 



SEVENTH YEAR — FOURTH MONTH 259 

"O Alice Brand, my native land 5 

Is lost for love of you; 
And we must hold by wood and wold, 

As outlaws wont to do. 

"O Alice, 't was all for thy locks so bright, 

And 't was all for thine eyes so blue, 10 

That on the night of our luckless flight 
Thy brother bold I slew. 

"Now must I teach to hew the beech 

The hand that held the glaive. 
For leaves to spread our lowly bed, 15 

And stakes to fence our cave. 

"And for vest of pall, thy fingers small. 

That wont on harp to stray, 
A cloak must shear from the slaughtered deer. 

To keep the cold away." 20 

"O Richard! if my brother died, 

'T was but a fatal chance; 
For darkling was the battle tried. 

And fortune sped the lance. 

"If pall and vair no more I wear, 25 

Nor thou the crimson sheen. 
As warm, we'll say, is the russet gray. 

As gay the forest-green. 

"And, Richard, if our lot be hard. 

And lost thy native land, 30 

Still Alice has her own Richard, 

And he his Alice Brand." 



260 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

'T is merry, 't is merry, in good greenwood; 

So blithe Lady Alice is singing; 
On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side. 

Lord Richard's axe is ringing. 

Up spoke the moody Elfin King, 

Who woned within the hill, — 
Like wind in the porch of a ruined church, 

His voice was ghostly shrill. 

"Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, 

Our moonlight circle's screen? 
Or who comes here to chase the deer. 

Beloved of our Elfin Queen? 
Or who may dare on wold to wear 4i 

The fairies' fatal green? 

"Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie. 

For thou wert christened man; 
For cross or sign thou wilt not fly, 

For muttered word or ban. 5( 

" Lay on him the curse of the withered heart. 

The curse of the sleepless eye; 
Till he wish and pray that his life would part, 

Nor yet find leave to die." 

'T is merry, 't is merry, in good greenwood, 5. 

Though the birds have stilled their singing; 
The evening blaze doth AHce raise, 

And Richard is fagots bringing. 

Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf, 

Before Lord Richard stands, 6 



SEVENTH YEAR— FOURTH MONTH ?61 

And, as he crossed and blessed himself, 
"I fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf, 
''That is made with bloody hands." 

But out then spoke she, Alice Brand, 

That woman void of fear, — 65 

"And if there's blood upon his hand, 

'T is but the blood of deer." 

"Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood! 

It cleaves unto his hand. 
The stain of thine own kindly blood, 70 

The blood of Ethert Brand." 

Then forward stepped she, Alice Brand, 

And made the holy sign, — 
"And if there's blood on Richard's hand, 

A spotless hand is mine. 75 

"And I conjure thee, demon elf. 

By Him whom demons fear. 
To show us whence thou art thyself. 

And what thine errand here.'*" 

" 'T is merry, 't is merry, in Fairy-land, 80 

When fairy birds are singing. 
When the court doth ride by their monarch's side. 

With bit and bridle ringing: 

"And gayly shines the Fairy-land — 

But all is glistening show, 85 

Like the idle gleam that December's beam 

Can dart on ice and snow. 



262 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

"And fading, like that varied gleam. 

Is our inconstant shape. 
Who now like knight and lady seem, 90 

And now like dwarf and ape. 

"It was between the night and day, 

When the Fairy King has power, 
That I sunk down in a sinful fray. 
And 'twixt life and death was snatched away 95 

To the joyless Elfin bower. 

"But wist I of a woman bold, 

Who thrice my brow durst sign, 
I might regain my mortal mould. 

As fair a form as thine." 100 

She crossed him once — she crossed him twice — 

That lady was so brave; 
The fouler grew his goblin hue. 

The darker grew the cave. 

She crossed him thrice, that lady bold; 105 

He rose beneath her hand 
The fairest knight on Scottish mould. 

Her brother, Ethert Brand ! 

Merry it is in good greenwood, 

When the mavis and merle are singing, 110 
But merrier were they in Dunfermline gray. 

When all the bells were ringing. 

Sir Walter Scott 



SEVENTH YEAR — FOURTH MONTH 263 

UNDER THE HOLLY BOUGH 

Ye who have scorned each other, 
Or injured friend or brother. 

In this fast-fading year; 
Ye who, by word or deed, 
Have made a kind heart bleed, 5 

Come gather here ! 
Let sinned against and sinning 
Forget their strife's beginning, 

And join in friendship now. 
Be hnks no longer broken, 10 

Be sweet forgiveness spoken 

Under the Holly Bough. 

Ye who have loved each other. 
Sister and friend and brother, 

In this fast-fading year; 15 

Mother and sire and child, 
Young man and maiden mild. 

Come gather here; 
And let your hearts grow fonder. 
As memory shall ponder 20 

Each past unbroken vow; 
Old love and younger wooing 
Are sweet in the renewing 

Under the Holly Bough. 

Ye who have nourished sadness, 25 

Estranged from hope and gladness, 

26. Estranged: separated from. This word comes from the 
Latin ex, which, easily lengthened to extra, becomes estrange with 
little change of meaning. Literally, therefore, a stranger is one 
from without. 



264 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

In this fast-fading year; 
Ye with o'erburdened mind 
Made aliens from your kind, 

Come gather here. 30 

Let not the useless sorrow 
Pursue you night and morrow; 

If e'er you hoped, hope now. 
Take heart, uncloud your faces. 
And join in our embraces 35 

Under the Holly Bough. 

Charles Mackay 

I SAW THREE SHIPS 

I SAW three ships come sailing in, 

On Christmas day, on Christmas day; 

I saw three ships come sailing in. 
On Christmas day in the morning. 

And what was in those ships all three, 5 

On Christmas day, on Christmas day.'* 

And what was in those ships all three. 
On Christmas day in the morning.? 

The Virgin Mary and Christ were there. 

On Christmas day, on Christmas day; 10 

The Virgin Marj^ and Christ were there. 
On Christmas day in the morning. 

Pray, whither sailed those ships all three. 
On Christmas day, on Christmas day? 

Pray, whither sailed those ships all three, 15 
On Christmas day in the morning? 



SEVENTH YEAR — FIFTH MONTH 265 

O they sailed into Bethlehem, 

On Christmas day, on Christmas day; 

O they sailed into Bethlehem, 

On Christmas day in the morning. 20 

And all the bells on earth shall ring. 
On Christmas day, on Christmas day; 

And all the bells on earth shall ring, 
On Christmas day in the morning. 

And all the Angels in Heaven shall sing, 25 
On Christmas day, on Christmas day; 

And all the Angels in Heaven shall sing. 
On Christmas day in the morning. 

And all the souls on earth shall sing, 

On Christmas day, on Christmas day; 30 

And all the souls on earth shall sing, 
On Christmas day in the morning. 

Then let us all rejoice amain, 

On Christmas day, on Christmas day; 

Then let us all rejoice amain, 35 

On Christmas day in the morning. 

Old English Carol 

FIFTH MONTH 

' PRELUDE TO EVANGELINE 

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines 

and the hemlocks. 
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct 

in the twilight. 
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, 



266 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their 
bosoms. 

Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neigh- 
boring ocean 5 

Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail 
of the forest. 

This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts 

that beneath it 
Leaped like the roe, when it hears in the woodland the 

voice of the huntsman.'^ 
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian 

farmers, — 
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the 

woodlands, 10 

Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image 

of heaven? 
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers for- 
ever departed! 
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts 

of October 
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them 

far o'er the ocean. 
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village 

of Grand-Pre. 15 

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, 
and is patient. 
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's 

devotion. 
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of 

the forest; 
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 



SEVENTH YEAR — FIFTH MONTH 267 

THE OWL CRITIC 

"Who stuffed that white owl?" No one spoke in the 

shop ; 
The barber was busy, and he could n't stop; 
The customers, waiting their turns, were all reading 
The Daily, the Herald, the Post, little heeding 
The young man who blurted out such a blunt question ; 5 
Not one raised a head, or even made a suggestion; 
I And the barber kept on shaving. 

"Don't you see. Mister Brown," 

Cried the youth, with a frown, 

"How wrong the whole thing is, 10 

How preposterous each wing is. 

How flattened the head is, how jammed down the neck 

is — 
In short, the whole owl, what an ignorant wreck 't is? 
I make no apology; 

I 've learned owl-eology, 15 

I've passed days and nights in a hundred collections, 
And cannot be blinded to any deflections 
Arising from unskillful fingers that fail 
To stuff a bird right, from his beak to his tail. 
Mister Brown! Mister Brown! 20 

Do take that bird down. 

Or you'll soon be the laughingstock all over town!" 
And the barber kept on shaving. 

"We studied ovAs, 

And other night fowls, 25 

And I tell you 

What I know to be true: 



268 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

An owl cannot roost 
With his hmbs so unloosed; 
No owl in this world 30 

Ever had his claws curled. 
Ever had his legs slanted, 
Ever had his bill oanted, 
Ever had his neck screwed 
Into that attitude. 35 

He can't do it, because 
'T is against all bird laws. 
Anatomy teaches. 
Ornithology preaches, 
An owl has a toe 
That cant turn out so! 

I 've made the white owl my study for years, 
And to see such a job almost moves me to tears! 
Mister Brown, I'm amazed 
You should be so gone crazed 45 

As to put up a bird 
In that posture absurd! 

To look at that owl really brings on a dizziness; 
The man who stuffed him don't half know his busi- 
ness!" 

And the barber kept on shaving. 

"Examine those eyes. 51; 

I'm filled with surprise 

Taxidermists should pass 

Off on you such poor glass; 

So unnatural they seem 

They 'd make Audubon scream, 

And John Burroughs laugh 

To encounter such chaff. 



SEVENTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 269 

Do take that bird down: 

Have him stuffed again, Brown!" 60 

And the barber kept on shaving, 

"With some sawdust and bark 
I could stuff in the dark 
An owl better than that. 

I could make an old hat 65 

Look more like an owl than that horrid fowl 
Stuck up there so stiff like a side of coarse leather. 
In fact, about him there's not one natural feather," 
Just then, with a wink and a sly normal lurch, 
The owl, very gravely, got down from his perch, 70 
Walked round, and regarded his fault-finding critic 
(Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance analytic. 
And then fairly hooted, as if he should say, 
"Your learning's at fault this time, anyway; 
Don't waste it again on a live bird, I pray. 75 

I'm an owl; you're another. Sir Critic, good day!" 
And the barber kept on shaving. 
James T. Fields 



SIXTH MONTH 

HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE 

How sleep the Brave who sink to rest 
By all their Country's wishes blest! 
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold. 
Returns to deck their hallow'd mould, 
She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 



270 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

By fairy hands their knell is rung, 

By forms unseen their dirge is sung: 

There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray. 

To bless the turf that wraps their clay, 10 

And Freedom shall awhile repair 

To dwell a weeping hermit there! 

William Collins 

"HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS 
FROM GHENT TO AIX" 

Browning wrote to an American inquirer about this poem: "There 
is no sort of historical foundation for the poem about 'Good News 
from Ghent.' I wrote it under the bulwark of a vessel, off the 
African coast, after I had been at sea long enough to appreciate even 
the fancy of a gallop on the back of a certain good horse ' York,' then 
in my stable at home. It was written in pencil on the fly-leaf of 
Bartoli's Simboli, I remember." As for the stages in this ride, a 
reader with a sufficiently minute map by him can trace the progress 
from Ghent across Belgium to Aix-la-Chapelle, a distance as the 
crow flies of between fifty and sixty miles. 

I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; 

I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; 

"Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts 

undrew; 
"Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through; 
Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, 5 
And into the midnight we galloped abreast. 

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace 
Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our 

place; 
I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight. 
Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, 
Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit, 11 
Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. 



SEVENTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 271 

'T was moonset at starting; but while we drew near 
Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear; 
At l^oom, a great yellow star came out to see; 15 

At Duff eld, 't was morning as plain as could be; 
And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half- 
chime, 
So Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time!" 

At Aershot, up leaped of a sudden the sun. 

And against him the cattle stood black every one, 20 

To stare through the mist at us galloping past, 

And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last. 

With resolute shoulders, each butting away 

The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray: 

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent 
back 25 

For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; 
And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that glance 
O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance! 
And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon 
His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. 30 

By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay 

spur! 
Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her. 
We'll remember at Aix" — for one heard the quick 

wheeze 
Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering 

knees, 
And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, 35 

As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. 



272 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

So, we were left galloping, Joris and I, 
Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky; 
The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, 
'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like 
chaff; 40 

Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white. 
And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!" 

"How they'll greet us!" — and all in a moment his 

roan 
Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; 44 
And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight 
Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, 
With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim. 
And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. 

Then I cast loose my buff -coat, each holster let fall. 
Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, 50 
Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear. 
Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without 

peer; 
Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad 

or good, 
Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. 

And all I remember is — friends flocking round 55 
As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground; 
And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, 
As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, 
Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) 
Was no more than his due who brought good news 
from Ghent. 60 

Robert Br opening 



SEVENTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 273 
THE REVENGE 

A BALLAD OF THE FLEET 
I 

At Flores in the Azores, Sir Richard Grenville lay, 

And a pinnace, like a flutter'd bird, came flying from 
far away; 

"Spanish ships of war at sea! we have sighted fifty- 
three!" 

Then sware Lord Thomas Howard: '"Fore God I am 
no coward; 

But I cannot meet them here, for my shijis are out of 
gear, 5 

And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but follow 
quick. 

We are six ships of the line; can we fight with fifty- 
three?" 

II 

Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: "I know you are 

no coward; 
You fly them for a moment to fight with them again. 
But I've ninety men and more that are lying sick 

ashore. 10 

I should count myself the coward if I left them, my 

Lord Howard, 
To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain." 

Ill 
So Lord Howard past away with five ships of war that 

day. 
Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven; 



274 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

But Sir Richard bore in hand all his sick men from the 
land 15 

Very carefully and slow, 

Men of Bideford in Devon, 

And we laid them on the ballast down below; 

For we brought them all aboard, 

And they blest him in their pain, that they were not 
left to Spain, 20 

To the thumb-screw and the stake, for the glory of the 
Lord. 

IV 

He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and 

to fight, 
And he sailed away from Flores till the Spaniard came 

in sight. 
With his huge sea-castles heaving upon the weather bow. 
"Shall we fight or shall we fly.? 25 

Good Sir Richard, tell us now, 
For to fight is but to die! 

There'll be little of us left by the time this sun be set." 
And Sir Richard said again: "We be all good English 

men. 
Let us bang these dogs of Seville, the children of the 

devil, 30 

For I never turn'd my back upon Don or devil yet." 

V 

Sir Richard spoke and he laugh'd, and we roar'd a 

hurrah, and so 
The little Revenge ran on sheer into the heart of the foe, 
With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick \ 

below; 



J 



SEVENTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 275 

For half of their fleet to the right and half to the left 
were seen, 35 

And the little Revenge ran on thro' the long sea-lane 
between. 

VI 

Thousands of their soldiers look'd down from their 
decks and laugh'd, 

Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad 
little craft 

Running on and on, till delay 'd 

By their mountain-hke San Philip that, of fifteen hun- 
dred tons, 40 

And up-shadowing high above us with her yawning 
tiers of guns. 

Took the breath from our sails, and we stay'd. 

VII 

And while now the great San Philip hung above us 
like a cloud 

Whence the thunderbolt will fall 

Long and loud, 45 

Four galleons drew away 

From the Spanish fleet that day. 

And two upon the larboard and two upon the star- 
board lay, 

And the battle-thunder broke from them all. 

VIII 

But anon the great San Philip, she bethought herself 
and went, 50 

Having that within her womb that had left her ill 
content; 



276 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

And the rest they came aboard us, and they fought us 

hand to hand, 
For a dozen times they came with their pikes and mus- 

queteers, 
And a dozen times we shook 'em off as a dog that 

shakes his ears 
When he leaps from the water to the land. 55 

IX 

And the sun went down, and the stars came out far 

over the summer sea, 
But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and 

the fifty-three. 
Ship after ship, the whole night long, their high-built 

galleons came. 
Ship after ship, the whole night long, with her battle 

thunder and flame; 
Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with 

her dead and her shame. 60 

For some were sunk and many were shatter 'd, and so 

could fight us no more — 
God of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world 

before.'* 



For he said, "Fight on! fight on!" 

Tho' his vessel was all but a wreck; 

And it chanced that, when half of the short summer 

night was gone, 65 

With a grisly wound to be drest he had left the deck, 
But a bullet struck him that was dressing it suddenly 

dead, 



SEVENTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 277 

And himself he was wounded again in the side and the 

head, 
And he said, "Fight on! fight on!" 

XI 

And the night went down, and the sun smiled out far 

over the summer sea, 70 

And the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay round us 

all in a ring; 
But they dared not touch us again, for they fear'd that 

we still could sting. 
So they watch'd what the end would be. 
And we had not fought them in vain, 
But in perilous plight were we, 75 

Seeing forty of our poor hundred were slain, 
And half of the rest of us maim'd for life 
In the crash of the cannonades and the desperate strife; 
And the sick men down in the hold were most of them 

stark and cold, 
And the pikes were all broken or bent, and the powder 

was all of it spent; 80 

And the masts and the rigging were lying over the side; 
But Sir Richard cried in his English pride: 
"We have fought such a fight for a day and a night 
As may never be fought again ! 

We have won great glory, my men! 85 

And a day less or more 
At sea or ashore. 
We die — does it matter when? 
Sink me the ship. Master Gunner — sink her, split her 

in twain! 
Fall into the hands of God, not into the hands of 

Spain!" 90 



278 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

XII 

And the gunner said, "Ay, ay," but the seamen made 

reply: 
"We have children, we have wives. 
And the Lord hath spared our lives. 
We will make the Spaniard promise, if we yield, to let 

us go; 
We shall live to fight again and to strike another 

blow." 95 

And the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to the 

foe. 

xni 

And the stately Spanish men to their flag-ship bore 

him then, 
Where they laid him by the mast, old Sir Richard 

caught at last, 
And they praised him to his face with their courtly 

foreign grace; 
But he rose upon their decks, and he cried: 100 

"I have fought for Queen and Faith like a valiant 

man and true; 
I have only done my duty as a man is bound to do. 
With a joyful spirit I Sir Richard Grenville die!" 
And he fell upon their decks, and he died. 

XIV 

And they stared at the dead that had been so valiant 
and true, 105 

And had holden the power and glory of Spain so cheap I 
That he dared her with one little ship and his English 
iew; I 



SEVENTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 279 

Was he devil or man? He was devil for aught they 

knew. 
But they sank his body with honor down into the deep, 
And they mann'd the Revenge with a swarthier alien 

crew, 110 

And away she sail'd with her loss and long'd for her own ; 
When a wind from the lands they had ruin'd awoke 

from sleep. 
And the water began to heave and the weather to 

moan. 
And or ever that evening ended a great gale blew. 
And a wave like the wave that is raised by an earth- 
quake grew, 115 
Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their 

masts and their flags, 
And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot-shat- 

ter'd navy of Spain, 
And the little Revenge herself went down by the island 

crags 
To be lost evermore in the main. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 



CONCORD HYMN 

SUNG AT THE COMPLETION OF THE BATTLE MONUMENT 
JULY 4, 1837 

By the rude bridge that arched the flood. 
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, 

Here once the embattled farmers stood, 
And fired the shot heard round the world. 

3. Does this shaft mark the spot where the farmers stood, or 
where the British fell? Read Emerson's brief Address at the Hun- 
dredth Anniversary oj the Concord Fight, April 19, 1875, 



280 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

The foe long since in silence slept; 5 

Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; 
And Time the ruined bridge has swept 

Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. 

On the green bank, by this soft stream, 

We set to-day a votive stone; 10 

That memory may their deed redeem, 
When, like our sires, our sons are gone. 

Spirit, that made those heroes dare 
To die, and leave their children free, 

Bid Time and Nature gently spare 15 

The shaft we raise to them and thee. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson 

O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! 

I 
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; 
The ship has weathered every wrack, the prize we 

sought is won; 
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, 
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and 
daring: 
But O heart! heart! heart! 5 

O the bleeding drops of red. 

Where on the deck my Captain lies, 
Fallen cold and dead. 

II 
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; 
Rise up — for you the flag is flung, for you the bugle | 
trills; X 



1 



SEVENTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 281 

For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths, for you the 

shores a-crowding; 
For 'you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces 
turning; 
Here Captain ! dear father ! 
This arm beneath your head; 

It is some dream that on the deck 15 

You've fallen cold and dead. 

Ill 
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and 

still; 
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor 

will; 
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage clossd 

and done: 
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object 
won ; 20 

Exult, O shores! and ring, O bells! 
But I, with mournful tread, 
Walk the deck my Captain lies 
Fallen cold and dead. 

Walt Whitman 



WARREN'S ADDRESS TO THE AMERICAN 
SOLDIERS 

Stand! the ground's your own, my braves! 
Will ye give it up to slaves? 
Will ye look for greener graves.'* 

Hope ye mercy still? 
What's the mercy despots feel? 5 

Hear it in that battle peal I 



!! 



282 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Read it on yon bristling steel! 
Ask it, — ye who will ! 

Fear ye foes who kill for hire? 

Will ye to your homes retire? 10 

Look behind you! they're a-fire! 

And, before you, see 
Who have done it! — From the vale 
On they come! — And will ye quail? — 
Leaden rain and iron hail 15 

Let their welcome be ! 

In the God of battles trust! 

Die we may, — and die we must; 

But, O, where can dust to dust 

Be consigned so well, 20 i 

As where Heaven its dews shall shed 
On the martyred patriot's bed. 
And the rocks shall raise their head, 

Of his deeds to tell! 

John Pierpont 

SEVENTH MONTH 

SIR GALAHAD 

My good blade carves the casques of men. 

My tough lance thrusteth sure. 
My strength is as the strength of ten, 

Because my heart is pure. 
The shattering trumpet shrilleth high. 

The hard brands shiver on the steel. 
The splinter'd spear-shafts crack and fly, 

The horse and rider reel; 



SEVENTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 283 

They reel, they roll in clanging lists, 

And when the tide of combat stands, 10 

Perfume and flowers fall in showers, 
That lightly rain from ladies' hands. 

How sweet are looks that ladies bend 

On whom their favors fall ! 
For them I battle till the end, 15 

To save from shame and thrall; 
But all my heart is drawn above, 

My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine; 
I never felt the kiss of love, 

Nor maiden's hand in mine. 20 

More bounteous aspects on me beam. 

Me mightier transports move and thrill; 
So keep I fair thro' faith and prayer 

A virgin heart in work and will. 

When down the stormy crescent goes, 25 

A light before me swims. 
Between dark stems the forest glows, 

I hear a noise of hymns. 
Then by some secret shrine I ride; 

I hear a voice, but none are there; 30 

The stalls are void, the doors are wide. 

The tapers burning fair. 
Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth. 

The silver vessels sparkle clean. 
The shrill bell rings, the censer swings, 35 

And solemn chaunts resound between. 

Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres 
I find a magic bark. 



284 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

I leap on board; no helmsman steers; 

I float till all is dark. 40 

A gentle sound, an awful light! 

Three angels bear the Holy Grail; 
With folded feet, in stoles of white. 

On sleeping wings they sail. 
Ah, blessed vision! blood of God! 45 

My spirit beats her mortal bars, 
As down dark tides the glory slides. 

And starlike mingles with the stars. 

When on my goodly charger borne 

Thro' dreaming towns I go, 50 

The cock crows ere the Christmas morn. 

The streets are dumb with snow. 
The tempest crackles on the leads. 

And, ringing, springs from brand and mail; 
But o'er the dark a glory spreads, 55 

And gilds the driving hail. 
I leave the plain, I climb the height; 

No branchy thicket shelter yields; 
But blessed forms in whistling storms 

Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields. 60 

A maiden knight — to me is given 

Such hope, I know not fear; 
I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven 

That often meet me here. 
I muse on joy that will not cease, 65 

Pure spaces clothed in living beams, 
Pure lilies of eternal peace. 

Whose odors haunt my dreams; 



SEVENTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 285 

And, stricken by an angel's hand, 

This mortal armor that I wear, 70 

This weight and size, this heart and eyes. 

Are touch 'd, are turn'd to finest air. 



The clouds are broken in the sky, 

And thro' the mountain-walls 
A rolling organ-harmony 75 

Swells up and shakes and falls. 
Then move the trees, the copses nod. 

Wings flutter, voices hover clear: 
"O just and faithful knight of God! 

Ride on! the prize is near." 80 

So pass I hostel, hall, and grange; 

By bridge and ford, by park and pale, 
All-arm'd I ride, whate'er betide. 

Until I find the Holy Grail. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 



THE NOBLE NATURE 

It is not growing like a tree 

In bulk doth make Man better be; 

Or standing long an oak, three hundred year. 

To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere: 

A lily of a day 5 

Is fairer far in May, 
Although it fall and die that night, — 
It was the plant and flower of Light: 
In small proportions we just beauties see. 
And in short measures life may perfect be. 10 

Ben Jonson 



286 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

ALEXANDER SELKIRK 

I AM monarch of all I survey, 

My right there is none to dispute, 

From the centre all round to the sea, 
I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 

Solitude! where are the charms 5 
That sages have seen in thy face? 

Better dwell in the midst of alarms. 
Than reign in this horrible place. 

1 am out of humanity's reach, 

I must finish my journey alone, 10 

Never hear the sweet music of speech; 

I start at the sound of my own. 
The beasts that roam over the plain 

My form with indifference see; 
They are so unacquainted with man, 15 

Their tameness, it terrifies me. 

Religion! what treasure untold 

Lies hid in that heavenly word ! 
More precious than silver or gold. 

Or all that this earth can afford. 20 

But the sound of the church-going bell. 

These valleys and rocks never heard, 
Never sigh'd at the sound of a knell. 

Or smiled when a sabbath appear'd. 

Ye winds, that have made me your sport, 25 
Convey to this desolate shore 

Some cordial endearing report 
Of a land I shall visit no more ! 



SEVENTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 287 

My friends, — do they now and then send 
A wish or a thought after me? 30 

O tell me I yet have a friend, 

Though a friend I am never to see. 

William Cowper 

From Verses supposed to be tvritten by Alexander Selkirk, dur- 
ing his Solitary Abode in the Island of Juan Fernandez. 



THE LAST LEAF 

I SAAV him once before. 
As he passed by the door, 

And again 
The pavement stones resound. 
As he totters o'er the ground 5 

With his cane. 

They say that in his prime. 
Ere the pruning-knife of Time 

Cut him down. 
Not a better man was found 10 

By the Crier on his round 

Through the town. 

But now he walks the streets, 
And he looks at all he meets 

Sad and wan, 15 

And he shakes his feeble head. 
That it seems as if he said, 

"They are gone." 

The mossy marbles rest 

On the lips that he has prest 20 



288 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

In their bloom, 
And the names he loved to hear 
Have been carved for many a year 

On the tomb. 

My grandmamma has said — 25 

Poor old lady, she is dead 

Long ago — 
That he had a Roman nose, 
And his cheek was like a rose 

In the snow. 30 

But now his nose is thin. 
And it rests upon his chin 

Like a staff. 
And a crook is in his back, 
And a melancholy crack 35 

In his laugh. 

I know it is a sin 
For me to sit and grin 

At him here; 
But the old three-cornered hat 40 

And the breeches, and all that 

Are so queer! 

And if I should live to be 
The last leaf upon the tree 

In the spring, 45 

Let them smile, as I do now 
At the old forsaken bough 

Where I chng. 

Oliver Wendell Holmes 



SEVENTH YEAR — EIGHTH MONTH 289 
EIGHTH MONTH 

TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour; 
For I maun crush amang the stour 

Thy slender stem; 
To spare thee now is past my power, 5 

Thou bonnie gem. 

Alas! it's no thy neebor sweet, 
The bonnie lark, companion meet! 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet 

Wi' spreckled breast, 10 

When upward springing, blythe, to greet 

The purpling east. 

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 

Upon thy early, humble birth; 

Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 15 

Amid the storm; 
Scarce reared above the parent earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flowers our gardens yield 

High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield, 20 

But thou beneath the random bield 

O' clod or stane 
Adorns the histie stibble-field. 

Unseen, alane. 

There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 25 

Thy snawy bosom sunward spread, 



290 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise; 
But now the share uptears thy bed, 

And low thou lies! 30 

Robert Burns 



SONG ON MAY MORNING 

Now the bright morning star, Day's harbinger. 
Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her 
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws 
The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose. 
Hail, bounteous May, that doth inspire 5 

Mirth, and youth, and warm desire; 
Woods and groves are of thy dressing. 
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. 
Thus we salute thee with our early song. 
And welcome thee, and wish thee long. 10 

John Milton 

TO A SKYLARK ^ 

Hail to thee, blithe spirit! 

Bird thou never wert, 
That from heaven, or near it, 

Pourest thy full heart 
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 5 

Higher still and higher. 

From the earth thou springest; 
Like a cloud of fire 

^ No more perfect type of the pure lyric can be found in all 
English literature than Shelley's Skylark. 



I 



SEVENTH YEAR — EIGHTH MONTH 291 

The blue deep thou wingest. 
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. 

In the golden lightning 11 

Of the sunken sun, 
O'er Wjliich clouds are brightening, 

Thou dost float and run; 
Like an embodied joy whose race is just begun. 15 

The pale purple even 

Melts around thy flight; 
Like a star of heaven. 

In the broad daylight 
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight, 20 

Keen as are the arrows 
Of that silver sphere, 
Whose intense lamp narrows 
In the white dawn clear, 
Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. 25 

All the earth and air 

With thy voice is loud; 
As, when night is bare. 
From one lonely cloud 
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is over- 
flowed. 30 

What thou art we know not; 

What is most like thee? 
From rainbow clouds there flow not 

Drops so bright to see. 
As from thy presence showers a rain of melody — 35 



292 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Like a poet hidden 

In the Hght of thought. 
Singing hymns unbidden, 

Till the world is wrought 
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not : 40 

Like a high-born maiden 

In a palace tower. 
Soothing her love-laden 

Soul in secret hour 
With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: 

Like a glowworm golden 46 

In a dell of dew. 
Scattering unbeholden 
Its aerial hue 
Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the 
view: 50 

Like a rose embowered 

In its own green leaves. 
By warm winds deflowered, 
Till the scent it gives 
Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy -winged 
thieves. 55 

Sound of vernal showers 

On the twinkling grass. 
Rain-awakened flowers. 

All that ever was 
Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass. 

Teach us, sprite or bird, 61 

What sweet thoughts are thine: 



SEVENTH YEAR — EIGHTH MONTH 293 

I have never heard 
Praise of love or wine 
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 65 

Chorus hymeneal, 

Or triumphal chaunt, 
Matched with thine would be all 
But an empty vaunt — 
A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. 

What objects are the fountains 71 

Of thy happy strain.'' 
What fields, or waves, or mountains? 
What shapes of sky or plain .^^ 
What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? 

With thy clear keen joyance 76 

Languor cannot be: 
Shadow of annoyance 

Never came near thee: 
Thou lovest; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. 80 

Waking or asleep, 

Thou of death must deem 
Things more true and deep 
Than we mortals dream, 
Or how coidd thy notes flow in such a crystal stream? 

We look before and after, 86 

And pine for what is not: 
Our sincerest laughter 

With some pain is fraught : 
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest 
thought. 90 



294 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Yet if we could scorn 

Hate, and pride, and fear; 
If we were things born 
Not to shed a tear, 
I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. 95 

Better than all measures 

Of delightful sound, 
Better than all treasures 

That in books are found, 
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground! 

Teach me half the gladness 101 

That thy brain must know, 
Such harmonious madness 

From my lips would flow, 104 

The world should listen then, as I am listening now. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley 



REQUIEM 

Under the wide and starry sky 
Dig the grave, and let me lie. 
Glad did I live, and gladly die, 
And I laid me down with a will. 



This be the verse you grave for me: 
Here he lies where he longed to be; 
Home is the sailor, home from sea, 
And the hunter home from the hill. 

Robert Louis Stevenson 



EIGHTH YEAR — FIRST MONTH 295 

EIGHTH YEAR 
FIRST MONTH 

HERVE RIEL 

This ballad was printed first in the Cornhill Magazine for March, 
1871. In a letter to Mr. George Smith, one of the publishers of the 
magazine, Browning stated that he intended to devote the proceeds 
of the poem to the aid of the people of Paris suffering from the 
Franco-German war. The publisher generously seconded his re- 
solve and paid one hundred pounds for the poem. The poem is 
faithful to the incident of Herve Riel, with the trivial exception 
that the holiday to see his wife was for the remainder of his life 
instead of for one day. 

I 
On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety- 
two, 
Did the Enghsh fight the French, — woe to France ! 
And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through 

• the blue, 
Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks 
pursue. 
Came crowding ship on ship to Saint Malo on the 
Ranee, 5 

With the English fleet in view. 

II 

'T was the squadron that escaped, with the victor in 

full chase; 

First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, 

Damf reville ; 

Close on him fled, great and small. 

Twenty-two good ships in all; 10 

1. The battle of La Hogue was fought May 19, 1692. The 
English and Dutch were pitted against the French, and the result 
of the battle was the transfer of sea-power from France to England. 



296 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

And they signalled to the place 
"Help the winners of a race! 

Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick — 
or, quicker still. 

Here's the English can and will!" 

Ill 

Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt 

on board; 15 

"Why, what hope or chance have ships like these 

to pass?" laughed they: 

"Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage 

scarred and scored. 
Shall the 'Formidable' here, with her twelve and 
eighty guns 
Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow 
way, 
Trust to enter where 't is ticklish for a craft of twenty 
tons, 20 

And with flow at full beside? 
Now, 't is slackest ebb of tide. 
Reach the mooring? Rather say. 
While rock stands or water runs. 

Not a ship will leave the bay!" 25 

IV 

Then was called a council straight. 

Brief and bitter the debate: 

"Here's the English at our heels; would you have 

them take in tow 
All that 's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and 

bow, 



EIGHTH YEAR — FIRST MONTH 297 

For a prize to Plymouth Sound? 30 

Better run the ships aground!" 

(Ended Darafreville his speech). 
"Not a minute more to wait! 

Let the Captains all and each 

Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the 
beach I 35 

France must undergo her fate. 

V 

" Give the word ! " But no such word 
Was ever spoke or heard; 

For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid 
all these 
— A Captain? A Lieutenant? A Mate — first, 
second, third? 40 

No such man of mark, and meet 
With his betters to compete! 
But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for 
the fleet, 
A poor coasting-pilot he, Herve Riel the Croisickese. 

VI 

And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries 
Herve Riel: 45 

"Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, 
fools, or rogues? 

Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the 
soundings, tell 

On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell, 

44. Le Croisic is a small fishing village near the mouth of the 
Loire. Browning sometimes sojourned there, and made it the scene 
of a long poem, The Two Poets of Croisic, 



298 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

'Twixt the offing here and Greve where the river 
disembogues? 
Are you bought by English gold ? Is it love the lying 's 
for? 50 

Morn and eve, night and day, 
Have I piloted your bay, 
Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor. 
Burn the fleet and ruin France? That were worse 
than fifty Hogues! 
Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe 
me there 's a way ! 55 

Only let me lead the line, 

Have the biggest ship to steer. 
Get this 'Formidable' clear. 
Make the others follow mine. 

And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know 
well, 60 

Right to Solidor past Greve, 

And there lay them safe and sound; 
And if one ship misbehave, 
— Keel so much as grate the ground. 
Why, I've nothing but my life, — here's my head!" 
cries Herve Riel. 65 

VII 

Not a minute more to wait. 
"Steer us in, then, small and great! 

Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!" 
cried its chief. 
Captains, give the sailor place! 

He is Admiral, in brief. . 70 

Still the north-wind, by God's grace! 
See the noble fellow's face 



fl 



EIGHTH YEAR — FIRST MONTH 299 

As the big ship, with a bound, 
Clears the entry hke a hound. 

Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide 
sea's profound! 75 

See, safe through shoal and rock, 
How they follow in a flock. 
Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the 
ground, 
Not a spar that comes to grief! 
The peril, see, is past, 80 

All are harbored to the last. 
And just as Herve Riel hollas "Anchor!" — sure as 

fate, 
Up the English come — too late ! 

VIII 

So, the storm subsides to calm: 

They see the green trees wave 85 

On the heights o'erlooking Greve. 
Hearts that bled are stanched with balm. 
"Just our rapture to enhance, 

Let the English rake the bay. 
Gnash their teeth and glare askance 90 

As they cannonade away! 
'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Ranee ! " 
How hope succeeds despair on each Captain's counte- 
nance ! 
Out burst all with one accord, 

" This is Paradise for Hell ! 95 

Let France, let France's King 
Thank the man that did the thing!" 
What a shout, and all one word, 

"Herve Riel!" 



300 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

As he stepped in front once more, 100 

Not a symptom of surprise 

In the frank blue Breton eyes, 
Just the same man as before. 

IX 

Then said Damfreville, "My friend, 

I must speak out at the end, 105 

Though I find the speaking hard. 
Praise is deeper than the hps: 
You have saved the King his ships, 

You must name your own reward. 
'Faith, our sun was near echpse! 110 

Demand whate'er you will, 
France remains your debtor still. 
Ask to heart's content and have! or my name's not 
Damfreville." 

X 

Then a beam of fun outbroke 

On the bearded mouth that spoke, 115 

As the honest heart laughed through 

Those frank eyes of Breton blue: 

"Since I needs must say my say, 

Since on board the duty 's done, 

And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it 
but a run.? — 120 

Since 't is ask and have, I may — 

Since the others go ashore — 
Come! A good whole holiday! 

Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle 
Aurore!" 

That he asked and that he got, — nothing more. 125 



»l 



EIGHTH YEAR — FIRST MONTH 301 

XI 

Name and deed alike are lost: 
Not a pillar nor a post 

In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell; 
Not a head in white and black 

On a single fishing smack, 130 

In memory of the man but for whom had gone to 
wrack 
All that France saved from the fight whence Eng- 
land bore the bell. 
Go to Paris: rank on rank 

Search the heroes flung pell-mell 
On the Louvre, face and flank! 135 

You shall look long enough ere you come to Herve 
Kiel. 
So, for better and for worse, 
Herve Riel, accept my verse! 
In my verse, Herve Riel, do thou once more 
Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife the 
Belle Aurore! 140 

Robert Browning 

OPPORTUNITY 

This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream : — 
There spread a cloud of dust along a plain; 
And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged 
A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords 
Shocked upon swords and shields. A prince's banner 
Wavered, then staggered back, hemmed in by foes. 6 
A craven hung along the battle's edge. 
And thought, "Had I a sword of keener steel — 
That blue blade that the king's son bears, — but this 



302 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Blunt thing — !" he snapt and flung it from his hand, 
And lowering crept away and left the field. 11 

Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead, 
And weaponless, and saw the broken sword, 
Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand. 
And ran and snatched it, and with battle-shout 15 
Lifted afresh he hewed his enemy down, 
And saved a great cause that heroic day. 

Edward Rowland Sill 



THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE 
OR, THE WONDERFUL "ONE-HOSS SHAY" 

A LOGICAL STORY 

Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay, 

That was built in such a logical way 

It ran a hundred years to a day., 

And then, of a sudden, it — ah, but stay, 

I '11 tell you what happened without delay, 5 

Scaring the parson into fits. 

Frightening people out of their wits, — 

Have you ever heard of that, I say.'' 

Seventeen hundred and fifty -five. 

Georgius Secundus was then alive, — 10 

Snuffy old drone from the German hive. 

That was the year when Lisbon-town 

Saw the earth open and gulp her down, 

And Braddock's army was done so brown, 

Left without a scalp to its crown. 15 

It was on the terrible Earthquake-day 

That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay. 



EIGHTH YEAR — FIRST MONTH 303 

Now in building of chaises, I tell you what, 

There is always somewhere a weakest spot, — 

In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill, 20 

In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill. 

In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace, — lurking still, 

Find it somewhere you must and will, — 

Above or below, or within or without, — 

And that's the reason, beyond a doubt, 25 

That a chaise breaks down, but does n't wear out. 

But the Deacon swore (as Deacons do. 
With an "I dew vum," or an "I tell yeou") 
He would build one shay to beat the taown 
'n' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun'; 30 

It should be so built that it could ri break daown. 
"Fur," said the Deacon, "'t's mighty plain 
Thut the weakes' place mus' stan' the strain; 
'n' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain, 

Is only jest 35 

T' make that place uz strong uz the rest," 

So the Deacon inquired of the village folk 

Where he could find the strongest oak. 

That could n't be split nor bent nor broke, — 

That was for spokes and floor and sills; 40 

He sent for lancewood to make the thills; 

The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees. 

The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese, 

But lasts like iron for things like these; 

The hubs of logs from the "Settler's ellum," — 45 

Last of its timber, — they could n't sell 'em. 

Never an axe had seen their chips. 

And the wedges flew from between their lips. 



304 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips; 

Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw, 50 

Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too, 

Steel of the finest, bright and blue; 

Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide; 

Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide 

Found in the pit when the tanner died. 55 

That was the way he "put her through." 

"There!" said the Deacon, "naow she'll dew!" 

Do ! I tell you, I rather guess 

She was a wonder, and nothing less! 

Colts grew horses, beards turned gray, 60 

Deacon and deaconess dropped away, 

Children and grandchildren — where were they? 

But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay 

As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day! 

Eighteen hundred; it came and found 65 

The Deacon's masterpiece strong and sound. 
Eighteen hundred increased by ten; — 
"Hahnsum kerridge" they called it then. 
Eighteen hundred and twenty came; — 
Running as usual; much the same. 70 

Thirty and forty at last arrive. 
And then come fifty, and fifty-five. 

Little of all we value here 

Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year 

Without both feeling and looking queer. 75 

In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth, 

So far as I know, but a tree and truth. 

(This is a moral that runs at large; 

Take it. — You 're welcome. — No extra charge.) 



fl 



EIGHTH YEAR — FIRST MONTH 305 

First of November, — the Earthquake-day, — 

There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay, 81 

A general flavor of mild decay, 

But nothing local, as one may say. 

There could n't be, — for the Deacon's art 

Had made it so like in every part 85 

That there was n't a chance for one to start. 

For the wheels were just as strong as the thills. 

And the floor was just as strong as the sills. 

And the panels just as strong as the floor, 

And the whipple-tree neither less nor more, 90 

And the back-crossbar as strong as the fore. 

And spring and axle and hub encore. 

And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt 

In another hour it will be worn out! 

First of November, 'Fifty-five ! 95 

This morning the parson takes a drive. 

Now, small boys, get out of the way! 

Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay, 

Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. 

"Huddup!" said the parson. — Off went they. 100 

The parson was working his Sunday's text, — 

Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed 

At what the — Moses — was coming next. 

All at once the horse stood still. 

Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill. 105 

First a shiver, and then a thrill. 

Then something decidedly like a spill, — 

And the parson was sitting upon a rock. 

At half past nine by the meet'n'-house clock, — 

Just the hour of the Earthquake shock! 110 

What do you think the ])arson found. 

When he got up and stared around? 



306 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

The poor old chaise in a heap or mound, 
As if it had been to the mill and ground! 
You see, of course, if you're not a dunce, 115 
How it went to pieces all at once — 
All at once, and nothing first, — 
Just as bubbles do when they burst. 

End of the wonderful one-hoss shay. 
Logic is logic. That's all I say. 120 

Oliver Wendell Holmes 



FOURTH MONTH ' 

A CHRISTMAS HYMN 

It was the calm and silent night! 

Seven hundred years and fifty-three 
Had Rome been growing up to might. 

And now was queen of land and sea. 
No sound was heard of clashing wars — 5 

Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain: 
Apollo, Pallas, Jove and Mars 

Held undisturbed their ancient reign, 
In the solemn midnight, 

Centuries ago. 10 

^ For the Second and Third Months of this year, Shakespeare's 
The Merchant of Venice and Julius Caesar are specified for reading. 
The Hmitations of space preclude the possibiHty of printing these 
plays complete in this book; and the publishers have shared the 
feeling of the committee in charge of the Revised Course of Study 
that it would be best not to attempt to print any selections, in- 
asmuch as it is intended that pupils shall read each play as a 
whole. 



EIGHTH YEAR — FOURTH MONTH 307 

'T was in the calm and silent night ! 

The senator of haughty Rome, 
Impatient, urged his chariot's flight, 

From lordly revel rolling home; 
Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell 15 

His breast with thoughts of boundless sway; 
What recked the Roman what befell 

A paltry province far away. 

In the solemn midnight. 

Centuries ago? 20 

Within that province far away 

Went plodding home a weary boar; 
A streak of light before him lay. 

Falling through a half-shut stable-door 
Across his path. He passed — for naught 25 

Told what was going on within; 
How keen the stars, his only thought — 

The air how calm, and cold, and thin. 
In the solemn midnight, 

Centuries ago! 30 

Oh, strange indifference! low and high 

Drowsed over common joys and cares; 
The earth was still — but knew not why. 

The world was listening, unawares. 
How calm a moment may precede 35 

One that shall thrill the world forever! 
To that still moment, none would heed, 

Man's doom was linked no more to sever — 
In the solemn midnight. 

Centuries ago! 40 



308 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

It is the calm and solemn night! 

A thousand bells ring out, and throw 
Their joyous peals abroad, and smite 

The darkness — charmed and holy now! 
The night that erst no name had worn, 45 

To it a happy name is given; 
For in that stable lay, new-born. 

The peaceful prince of earth and hea,ven, 
In the solemn midnight, 

Centuries ago! 50 

Alfred Dommett 

RING OUT, WILD BELLS 

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky. 
The flying cloud, the frosty light: 
The year is dying in the night; 

Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. 

Ring out the old, ring in the new, 5 

Ring, happy bells, across the snow: 
The year is going, let him go; 

Ring out the false, ring in the true. 

Ring out the grief that saps the mind, 

For those that here we see no more; 10 

Ring out the feud of rich and poor, 

Ring in redress to all mankind. 

Ring out a slowly dying cause, 
And ancient forms of party strife; 
Ring in the nobler modes of life, 15 

With sweeter manners, purer laws. 



EIGHTH YEAR — FIFTH MONTH 309 

Ring out the want, the care, the sin, 
The faithless coldness of the times; 
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, 

But ring the fuller minstrel in. 20 

Ring out false pride in place and blood, 

The civic slander and the spite; 

Ring in the love of truth and right, 
Ring in the common love of good. 

Ring out old shapes of foul disease; 25 

Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; 
Ring out the thousand wars of old, 

Ring in the thousand years of peace. 

Ring in the valiant man and free, 

The larger heart, the kindlier hand; 30 

Ring out the darkness of the land. 

Ring in the Christ tliat is to be. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 



FIFTH MONTH 

MY NATIVE LAND 

Breathes there a man, with soul so dead. 
Who never to himself hath said. 

This is my own, my native land! 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, 
As home his footsteps he hath turned 

From wandering on a foreign strand! 
If such there breathe, go, mark him well; 
For him no minstrel raptures swell; 



310 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

High though his titles, proud his name, 

Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; 10 

Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 

The wretch, concentred all in self. 

Living, shall forfeit fair renown. 

And, doubly dying, shall go down 

To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, 15 

Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. 

Sir Walter Scott 

DEAR LAND OF ALL MY LOVE^ 

Long as thine Art shall love true love, 
Long as thy Science truth shall know, 
Long as thine Eagle harms no Dove, 
Long as thy Law by law shall grow, 
Long as thy God is God above, 5 

Thy brother every man below. 
So long, dear Land of all my love. 
Thy name shall shine, thy fame shall glow! 

Sidney Lanier 

OLD IRONSIDES 



i 



Ay, tear her tattered ensign down! 

Long has it waved on high. 
And many an eye has danced to see 

That banner in the sky; 
Beneath it rung the battle shout. 

And burst the cannon's roar; — 
The meteor of the ocean air 

Shall sweep the clouds no more. 

^ From Poems by Sidney Lanier. , Charles Scribner's Sons. Used 
by permission. J 

1 



EIGHTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 311 

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, 

Where knelt the vanquished foe, 10 

When winds were hurrying o'er the flood. 

And waves were white below. 
No more shall feel the victor's tread, 

Or know the conquered knee; — 
The harpies of the shore shall pluck 15 

The eagle of the sea! 

Oh, better that her shattered hulk 

Should sink beneath the wave; 
Her thunders shook the mighty deep, 

And there should be her grave; 20 

Nail to the mast her holy flag, 

Set every threadbare sail. 
And give her to the god of storms, 

The lightning and the gale! 

Oliver Wendell Holmes 



SIXTH MONTH 

ABRAHAM LINCOLN 

On, slow to smite and swift to spare. 
Gentle and merciful and just! 

Who, in the fear of God, didst bear 
The sword of power, a nation's trust! 

In sorrow by thy bier we stand. 
Amid the awe that hushes all. 

And speak the anguish of a land 
That shook Avith horror at thy fall. 



312 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Thy task is done; the bond are free: 

We bear thee to an honored grave, 10 

Whose proudest monument shall be 
The broken fetters of the slave. 

Pure was thy life; its bloody close 

Hath placed thee with the sons of light, 

Among the noble host of those 15 

Who perished in the cause of Right. 

William Cullen Bryant 

THE COMMEMORATION ODE 

SELECTIONS 

ABRAHAM LINCOLN 

Such was he, our Martyr-Chief, 

Whom late the Nation he had led, 
With ashes on her head, 
Wept with the passion of an angry grief: 
Forgive me, if from present things I turn 5 

To speak what in my heart will beat and burn. 
And hang my wreath on his world-honored urn. 

Nature, they say, doth dote. 

And cannot make a man 

Save on some worn-out plan, 10 

Repeating us by rote: 
For him her Old- World moulds aside she threw. 
And, choosing sweet clay from the breast 

Of the unexhausted West, v 

With stuff untaint ed shaped a hero new, * 15 I 

Wise, steadfast in the strength of God, and true. 

How beautiful to see 



EIGHTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 313 

Once more a shepherd of mankind indeed, 
Who loved his charge, but never loved to lead; 
One whose meek flock the people joyed to be, 20 

Not lured by any cheat of birth. 
But by his clear-grained human worth. 
And brave old wisdom of sincerity! 

They knew that outward grace is dust; 
They could not choose but trust 25 

In that sure-footed mind's imfaltering skill. 

And supple-tempered will 
That bent like perfect steel to spring again and thrust. 
His was no lonely mountain-peak of mind, 
Thrusting to thin air o'er our cloudy bars, 30 

A sea-mark now, now lost in vapors blind; 
Broad prairie rather, genial, level-lined. 
Fruitful and friendly for all human-kind, 
Yet also nigh to heaven and loved of loftiest stars. 

Nothing of Europe here, 35 

Or, then, of Europe fronting morn-ward still, 
Ere any names of Serf and Peer 
Could Nature's equal scheme deface 

And thwart her genial will; 
Here was a type of the true elder race, 40 

And one of Plutarch's men talked with us face to face. 

I praise him not; it were too late; 
And some innative weakness there must be 
In him who condescends to victory 
Such as the Present gives, and cannot wait, 45 

Safe in himself as in a fate. 
So always firmly he: 
He knew to bide his time, 
And can his fame abide, 
Still patient in liis simple faith sublime, 50 



314 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Till the wise years decide. 
Great captains, with their guns and drums, 
Disturb our judgment for the hour. 

But at last silence comes; 
These all are gone, and, standing like a tower, 55 
Our children shall behold his fame, 

The kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing man. 
Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame, 
New birth of our new soil, the first American. 

O BEAUTIFUL! MY COUNTRY! 

Bow down, dear Land, for thou hast found release! 
Thy God, in these distempered days. 
Hath taught thee the sure wisdom of His ways. 
And through thine enemies hath wrought thy peace! 

Bow down in prayer and praise! 5 

No poorest in thy borders but may now 
Lift to the juster skies a man's enfranchised brow, 
O Beautiful! my Country! ours once more! 
Smoothing thy gold of war-dishevelled hair 
O'er such sweet brows as never other wore, 10 

And letting thy set lips. 

Freed from wrath's pale eclipse, 
The rosy edges of their smile lay bare. 
What words divine of lover or of poet 
Could tell our love and make thee know it, 15 

Among the Nations bright beyond compare? 

What were our lives without thee? 

What all our lives to save thee? 

We reck not what we gave thee; 

We will not dare to doubt thee, 20 

But ask whatever else, and we will dare ! 

James Russell Lowell 



II 



EIGHTH YEAR — SIXTH MONTH 315 

ONE COUNTRY 

After all, 
One country, brethren ! We must rise or fall 
With the Supreme Republic. We must be 
The makers of her immortality, — 

Her freedom, fame, 5 

Her glory or her shame: 
Liegemen to God and fathers of the free! 

After all — 
Hark! from the heights the clear, strong, clarion 

call 
And the command imperious: "Stand forth, 10 

Sons of the South and brothers of the North! 

Stand forth and be 

As one on soil and sea — 
Your country's honor more than empire's worth!" 

After all, 15 

'T is Freedom wears the loveliest coronal; 
Her brow is to the morning; in the sod 
She breathes the breath of patriots; every clod 

Answers her call 

And rises like a wall 20 

Against the foes of liberty and God! 

Frank Lebby Stanton 



316 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 
SEVENTH MONTH 

THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 
PRELUDE TO PART FIRST 

Over his keys the musing organist, 

Beginning doubtfully and far away, 
First lets his fingers wander as they list. 

And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay : 
Then, as the touch of his loved instrument !. 

Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme, 
First guessed by faint auroral flushes sent 

Along the wavering vista of his dream. 



Not only around our infancy 

Doth heaven with all its splendors lie; 10 

Daily, with souls that cringe and plot. 

We Sinais climb and know it not. 

Over our manhood bend the skies; 

Against our fallen and traitor lives 
The great winds utter prophecies; 15 

With our faint hearts the mountain strives; 
Its arms outstretched, the Druid wood 

Waits with its benedicite; 
And to our age's drowsy blood 

Still shouts the inspiring sea, 20 

Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us; 

The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in. 
The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us. 

We bargain for the graves we lie in; 



I 



EIGHTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 317 

At the Devil's booth are all things sold, 25 

Pach ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold; 

For a cap and bells our lives we pay, 
Bubbles we buy with a whole soul's tasking: 

'T is heaven alone that is given away, 
'T is only God may be had for the asking; 30 

No price is set on the lavish summer; 
June may be had by the poorest comer. 

And what is so rare as a day in June? 

Then, if ever, come perfect days; 
Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, 35 

And over it softly her warm ear lays; 
Whether we look, or whether we listen. 
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; 
Every clod feels a stir of might, 

An instinct within it that reaches and towers, 40 
And, groping blindly above it for light. 

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers; 
The flush of life may well be seen 

Thrilling back over hills and valleys; 
The cowslip startles in meadows green, 45 

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, 

27. The reference to the court jester of the Middle Ages is 
obvious. For the young, the significance of the figure borrowed 
from the adornment of the king's fool should be interpreted by 
conversation and illustration. 

35. Compare with Lowell's personification of spring in 
" Jes' so our Spring gits everythin' in tune." 

Sunthin' in the Pastoral Line. 
42. Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers. Wordsworth says, 
in the Ode, 

"The sunshine is a glorious birth," 
and he devotes the whole of the next stanza of his poem to the 
manifestations of this glorious birth in the abounding life of the 
springtime. 



318 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

And there 's never a leaf nor a blade too mean 

To be some happy creature's palace; 
The little bird sits at his door in the sun, 

Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, 50 

And lets his illumined being o'errun 

With the deluge of summer it receives; 
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, 
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings; 
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest, — 
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best? 56 

Now is the high-tide of the year. 

And whatever of life hath ebbed away 
Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer. 

Into every bare inlet and creek and bay; 60 

Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it, 
We are happy now because God wills it; 
No matter how barren the past may have been, 
'T is enough for us now that the leaves are green; I 

We sit in the warm shade and feel right well 65 

How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell; 
We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing 
That skies are clear and grass is growing; 
The breeze comes whispering in our ear. 
That dandelions are blossoming near, 70 

That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, 
That the river is bluer than the sky. 
That the robin is plastering his house hard by; 
And if the breeze kept the good news back, il 

For other couriers we should not lack; 75 

We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing, — 
And hark! how clear bold chanticleer. 
Warmed with the new wine of the year, 

Tells all in his lusty crowing! 



EIGHTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 319 

Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how; 80 

Everything is happy now. 

Everything is upward striving; 
'T is as easy now for the heart to be true 
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue, — 

'T is the natural way of living : 85 

Who knows whither the clotids have fled? 

In the un scarred heaven they leave no wake; 
And the eyes forget the tears they have shed, 

The heart forgets its sorrow and ache; 
The soul partakes the season's youth, 90 

And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe 
Lie deep 'neatli a silence pure and smooth. 

Like burnt-out craters healed with snow. 
What wonder if Sir Launfal now 
Remembered the keeping of his vow? 95 

PART FIRST 



'My golden spurs now bring to me, 

And bring to me my richest mail. 
For to-morrow I go over land and sea 

In search of the Holy Grail; 
Shall never a bed for me be spread, 100 

Nor shall a pillow be under my head, 
Till I begin my vow to keep; 
Here on the rushes will I sleep, 
And perchance there may come a vision true 
Ere day create the world anew." 105 

Slowly Sir Launfal 's eyes grew dim 

Slumber fell like a cloud on him. 
And into his soul the vision flew. 



320 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

II 

The crows flapped over by twos and threes, 

In the pool drowsed the cattle up to their knees, 110 

The little birds sang as if it were 

The one day of summer in all the year, 
And the very leaves seemed to sing on the trees: 
The castle alone in the landscape lay 
Like an outpost of winter, dull and gray: 115 

'T was the proudest hall in the North Countree, 
And never its gates might opened be. 
Save to lord or lady of high degree; 
Summer besieged it on every side, 
But the churlish stone her assaults defied; 120 

She could not scale the chilly wall. 
Though around it for leagues her pavilions tall 
Stretched left and right, 
Over the hills and out of sight; 

Green and broad was every tent, 125 

And out of each a murmur went 
Till the breeze fell off at night. 

Ill 

The drawbridge dropped with a surly clang. 
And through the dark arch a charger sprang, 
Bearing Sir Launfal, the maiden knight, 130 

In his gilded mail, that flamed so bright 
It seemed the dark castle had gathered all 
Those shafts the fierce sun had shot over its wall 

In his siege of three hundred summers long. 
And, binding them all in one blazing sheaf, 135 

Had cast them forth: so, young and strong, 
And lightsome as a locust-leaf, j 



EIGHTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 321 

Sir Launfal flashed forth in his maiden mail. 
To seek in all climes for the Holy Grail. 

IV 

It was morning on hill and stream and tree, 140 

And morning in the young knight's heart; 

Only the castle moodily 

Rebuffed the gifts of the sunshine free. 
And gloomed by itself apart; 

The season brimmed all other things up 145 

Full as the rain fills the pitcher-plant's cup. 



As Sir Launfal made morn through the darksome gate. 

He was 'ware of a leper, crouched by the same. 
Who begged with his hand and moaned as he sate; 

And a loathing over Sir Launfal came; 150 

The sunshine went out of his soul with a thrill. 

The flesh 'neatli his armor 'gan shrink and crawl. 
And midway its leap his heart stood still 

Like a frozen waterfall; 
For this man, so foul and bent of stature, 155 

Rasped harshly against his dainty nature. 
And seemed the one blot on the summer morn, — 
So he tossed him a piece of gold in scorn. 

VI 

The leper raised not the gold from the dust: 
"Better to me the poor man's crust, 160 

Better the blessing of the poor. 
Though I turn me empty from his door; 
That is no true alms which the hand can hold; 
He gives nothing but worthless gold 



323 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Who gives from a sense of duty; 165 

But he who gives but a slender mite, 
And gives to that which is out of sight, 

That thread of the all-sustaining Beauty 
Which runs through all and doth all unite, — 
The hand cannot clasp the whole of his alms, 170 

The heart outstretches its eager palms, 
For a god goes with it and makes it store 
To the soul that was starving in darkness before." 

PRELUDE TO PART SECOND 

Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak. 
From the snow five thousand summers old; 175 

On open wold and hilltop bleak 
It had gathered all the cold. 

And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek; 

It carried a shiver everywhere 

From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare; 180 

The little brook heard it and built a roof 

'Neath which he could house him, winter-proof; 

All night by the white stars' frosty gleams 

He groined his arches and matched his beams; 

Slender and clear were his crystal spars 185 

As the lashes of light that trim the stars; 

He sculptured every summer delight 

In his halls and chambers out of sight; 

Sometimes his tinkling waters slipt 

Down through a frost-leaved forest-crypt, 190 

Long, sparkling aisles of steel-stemmed trees 

Bending to counterfeit a breeze; 

Sometimes the roof no fretwork knew 

But silvery mosses that downward grew; 



i 



EIGHTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 323 

Sometimes it was carved in sharp relief 195 

With quaint arabesques of ice-fern leaf; 

Sometimes it was simply smooth and clear 

For the gladness of heaven to shine through, and here 

He had caught the nodding bulrush-tops 

And hung them thickly with diamond-drops, 200 

That crystaled the beams of moon and sun, 

And made a star of every one: 

No mortal builder's most rare device 

Could match this winter-palace of ice; 

'T was as if every image that mirrored lay 205 

In his depths serene through the summer day. 

Each fleeting shadow of earth and sky, 

Lest the happy model should be lost, 
Had been mimicked in fairy masonry 

By the elfin builders of the frost. 210 

Within the hall are song and laughter. 

The cheeks of Christmas grow red and jolly. 
And sprouting is every corbel and rafter 

With lightsome green of ivy and holly; 
Through the deep gulf of the chimney wide 215 

Wallows the Yule-log's roaring tide; 
The broad flame-pennons droop and flap 

And belly and tug as a flag in the wind; 
Like a locust shrills the imprisoned sap. 

Hunted to death in its galleries blind; 220 

And swift little troops of silent sparks, 

Now pausing, now scattering away as in fear. 
Go threading the soot-forest's tangled darks 

Like herds of startled deer. 

But the wind without was eager and sharp, 225 

Of Sir Launfal's gray hair it makes a harp. 



324 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

And rattles and wrings 
The icy strings, 
Singing, in dreary monotone, 

A Christmas carol of its own, 230 

Whose burden still, as he might guess. 
Was "shelterless, shelterless, shelterless!" 
The voice of the seneschal flared like a torch 
As he shouted the wanderer away from the porch, 
And he sat in the gateway and saw all night 235 

The great hall-fire, so cheery and bold. 
Through the window-slits of the castle old. 
Build out its piers of ruddy light 
Against the drift of the cold. 

PART SECOND 



There was never a leaf on bush or tree, 240 

The bare boughs rattled shudderingly ; 
The river was dumb and could not speak, 

For the weaver Winter its shroud had spun; 
A single crow on the tree-top bleak 

From his shining feathers shed off the cold sun; 245 
Again it was morning, but shrunk and cold. 
As if her veins were sapless and old. 
And she rose up decrepitly 
For a last dim look at earth and sea. 

II 

Sir Launfal turned from his own hard gate, 250 

For another heir in his earldom sate; 

An old, bent man, worn out and frail. 

He came back from seeking the Holy Grail; 



EIGHTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 325 

Little he recked of his earldom's loss, 

No more on his surcoat was blazoned the cross, 255 

But deep in his soul the sign he wore, 

The badge of the suffering and the poor. 

Ill 

Sir Launfal's raiment thin and spare 

Was idle mail 'gainst the barbed air. 

For it was just at the Christmas time; 260 

So he mused, as he sat, of a sunnier clime. 

And sought for a shelter from cold and snow 

In the light and warmth of long-ago; 

He sees the snake-like caravan crawl 

O'er the edge of the desert, black and small, 265 

Then nearer and nearer, till, one by one. 

He can count the camels in the sun. 

As over the red-hot sands they pass 

To where, in its slender necklace of grass. 

The little spring laughed and leapt in the shade, 270 

And with its own self like an infant played, 

And waved its signal of palms. 

IV 

"For Christ's sweet sake, I beg an alms"; — 

The happy camels may reach the spring, 

But Sir Launfal sees only the grewsome thing, 275 

The leper, lank as the rain-blanched bone. 

That cowers beside him, a thing as lone 

And white as the ice-isles of Northern seas 

In the desolate horror of his disease. 

V 

And Sir Launfal said, " I behold in thee 280 

An image of Him who died on the tree; 



336 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns, 

Thou also hast had the world's buffets and scorns, 

And to thy life were not denied 

The wounds in the hands and feet and side : 285 

Mild Mary's Son, acknowledge me; 

Behold, through him, I give to Thee!" 

VI 

Then the soul of the leper stood up in his eyes 

And looked at Sir Launfal, and straightway he 
Remembered in what a haughtier guise 290 

He had flung an alms to leprosie, 
When he girt his young life up in gilded mail 
And set forth in search of the Holj^ Grail. 
The heart within him was ashes and dust; 
He parted in twain his single crust, 295 

He broke the ice on the streamlet's brink, 
And gave the leper to eat and drink: 
'T was a mouldy crust of coarse brown bread, 

'T was water out of a wooden bowl, — 
Yet with fine wheaten bread was the leper fed, 300 

And 't was red wine he drank with his thirsty soul. 

VII 

As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face, 

A light shone round about the place; 

The leper no longer crouched at his side, • 

But stood before him glorified, 305 

Shining and tall and fair and straight 

As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate, — 

Himself the Gate whereby men can 

Enter the temple of God in Man. 309 



EIGHTH YEAR — SEVENTH MONTH 327 

VIII 

His words were shed softer than leaves from the pine, 

And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine, 

That mingle their softness and quiet in one 

With the shaggy unrest they float down upon; 

And the voice that was calmer than silence said, 

"Lo, it is I, be not afraid! 315 

In many climes, without avail, 

Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail; 

Behold, it is here, — this cup which thou 

Didst fill at the streamlet for Me but now; 

This crust is My body broken for thee, 320 

This water His blood that died on the tree; 

The Holy Supper is kept, indeed. 

In whatso we share with another's need: 

Not what we give, but what we share, — 

For the gift without the giver is bare; 325 

Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, — 

Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me." 

IX 

"Sir Launfal awoke as from a s wound: 

The Grail in my castle here is found! 

Hang my idle armor up on the wall, 330 

Let it be the spider's banquet-hall; 

He must be fenced with stronger mail 

Who would seek and find the Holy Grail." 

X 

The castle gate stands open now, 

And the wanderer is welcome to the hall 335 

As the hangbird is to the elm-tree bough; 

No longer scowl the turrets tall, 



338 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

The Summer's long siege at last is o'er; 

When the first poor outcast went in at the door, 

She entered with him in disguise, 340 

And mastered the fortress by surprise; 

There is no spot she loves so well on ground. 

She lingers and smiles there the whole year round; 

The meanest serf on Sir Launfal's land 

Has hall and bower at his command; 345 

And there's no poor man in the North Countree 

But is lord of the earldom as much as he. 

James Russell Lowell 



FLOWER IN THE CRANNIED WALL 

Flower in the crannied wall, 

I pluck you out of the crannies, 

I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, 

Little flower — but if I could understand 

What you are, root and all, and all in all, 5 

I should know what God and man is. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

EIGHTH MONTH 

ULYSSES 1 

It little profits that an idle king. 
By this still hearth, among these barren crags, 

^ Ulysses appeared first in the volume of 1842. An interesting 
circumstance in connection with it is that when Sir Robert Peel 
as Prime Minister was urged to put Tennyson's name on the pension 
list in 1845, he confessed complete ignorance of the poet's work. 
The reading of this one poem, however, decided him to grant the 
annuity. 



EIGHTH YEAR — EIGHTH MONTH 329 

Match'd with an aged wife, I meet and dole 

Unequal laws unto a savage race, 

That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. 5 

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink 

Life to the lees: all times I have enjoy 'd 

Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those 

That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when 

Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades 10 

Vext the dim sea: I am become a name; 

For always roaming with a hungry heart 

Much have I seen and known; cities of men 

And manners, climates, councils, governments, 

Myself not least, but honor'd of them all; 15 

And drunk delight of battle with my peers. 

Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. 

I am a part of all that I have met; 

Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' 

Gleams that untravel'd world, whose margin fades 

For ever and for ever when I move. 21 

How dull it is to pause, to make an end, 

To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use! 

As tho' to breathe were life. Life piled on life 

Were all too little, and of one to me 25 

Little remains; but every hour is saved 

From that eternal silence, something more, 

A bringer of new things; and vile it were 

For some three suns to store and hoard myself, 

And this gray spirit yearning in desire 30 

To follow knowledge like a sinking star, 

Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. 

10. Hyades = "the rainers," the group of seven stars at the 
head of Taurus. 

11. Vext. Students of Latin will feel the classicism of this 
word. 



330 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

This is my son, mine own Telemachus, 
To whom I leave the scepter and the isle — 
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill 35 

This labor, by slow prudence to make mild 
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees 
Subdue them to the useful and the good. 
Most blameless is he, centered in the sphere 
Of common duties, decent not to fail 40 

In offices of tenderness, and pay 
Meet adoration to my household gods. 
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine. 
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail: 
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners, 45 
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with 

me — 
That ever with a frolic welcome took 
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed 
Free hearts, free foreheads — you and I are old; 
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil; 50 

Death closes all : but something ere the end. 
Some work of noble note may yet be done, 
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. 
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: 54 

The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep 
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, 
'T is not too late to seek a newer world. 
Push off, and sitting well in order smite 
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds 
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths 60 

Of all the western stars, until I die. 
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down : 
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, 

60. The baths, etc. Where the western stars sink into the sea. 



EIGHTH YEAR — EIGHTH MONTH 331 

And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. 
Tljo' much is taken, much abides; and tho' 65 

We are not now that strength which in old days 
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are; 
One equal temper of heroic hearts, 
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will 
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. 70 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 



THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS 

"We need not trouble ourselves about the distinction between 
this [the Pearly Nautilus] and the Paper Nautilus, the Argonauta 
of the ancients. The name applied to both shows that each has 
long been compared to a ship, as you may see more fully in Webster's 
Dictionary or the Encyclopaedia, to which he refers. If you will 
look into Roget's Bridgewater Treatise, you will find a figure of one 
of these shells, and a section of it. The last will show you the series 
of enlarging compartments successively dwelt in by the animal that 
inhabits the shell, which is built in a widening spiral. . . . 

" I have now and then found a naturalist who still worried over the 
distinction between the Pearly Nautilus and the Paper Nautilus, or 
Argonauta. As the stories about both are mere fables, attaching to 
the Physalia, or Portuguese man-of-war, as well as to these two 
mollusks, it seems over-nice to quarrel with the poetical handling 
of a fiction sufficiently justified by the name commonly applied to 
the ship of pearl as well as the ship of paper." — The Autocrat of the 
Breakfast- Table. 

This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign. 

Sails the unshadowed main, — 

The venturous bark that flings 
On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings 
In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings, 5 

And coral reefs lie bare. 
Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming 
hair. 



332 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; 

Wrecked is the ship of pearl 

And every chambered cell, 10 

Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, 
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell. 

Before thee lies revealed, — 
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed! 

Year after year beheld the silent toil 15 

That spread his lustrous coil; 

Still, as the spiral grew. 
He left the past year's dwelling for the new, 
Stole with soft step its shining archway through, 

Built up its idle door, 20 

Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no 
more. 

Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, 

Child of the wandering sea, 

Cast from her lap, forlorn! 
From thy dead lips a clearer note is born 25 

Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn! 

While on mine ear it rings. 
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that 
sings : — 

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, 

As the swift seasons roll! 30 

Leave thy low- vaulted past! 

Let each new temple, nobler than the last. 

Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast. 

Till thou at length art free, 34 

Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea! 

Oliver Wendell Holmes 



EIGHTH YEAR — EIGHTH MONTH 333 



TO THE DANDELION 

Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way, 
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold. 

First pledge of blithesome May, 
Which children pluck, and, full of pride uphold. 

High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that they 5 

An Eldorado in the grass have found, 

Which not the rich earth's ample round 
May match in wealth, thou art more dear to me 
Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be. 

Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish prow 10 
Through the primeval hush of Indian seas. 

Nor wrinkled the lean brow 
Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease; 

'T is the Spring's largess, which she scatters now 
To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand, 15 

Though most hearts never understand 
To take it at God's value, but pass by 
The offered wealth with unrewarded eye. 

Thou art my tropics and mine Italy; 
To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime; 20 

The eyes thou givest me 
Are in the heart, and heed not space or time: 

Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee 
Feels a more summer-like warm ravishment 

In the white lily's breezy tent, 25 

His fragrant Sybaris, than I, when first 
From the dark green thy yellow circles burst. 



334 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

Then think I of deep shadows on the grass, 
Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze, 

Where, as the breezes pass, 30 

The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways, 
Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass, 
Or whiten in the wind, of waters blue 

That from the distance sparkle through 
Some woodland gap, and of a sky above, 35 

Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move- 

My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with 
thee; 
The sight of thee calls back the robin's song. 

Who, from the dark old tree 
Beside the door, sang clearly all day long, 40 

And I, secure in childish piety. 
Listened as if I heard an angel sing 

With news from heaven, which he could bring 
Fresh every day to my untainted ears 
When birds and flowers and I were happy peers. 45 

How like a prodigal doth nature seem. 
When thou, for all thy gold, so common art! 

Thou teachest me to deem 
More sacredly of every human heart. 

Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam 50 

Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show. 
Did we but pay the love we owe, 
And with a child's undoubting wisdom look 
On all these living pages of God's book. 

James Russell Lowell 



EIGHTH YEAR — EIGHTH MONTH 335 

FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT 

Is there, for honest poverty, 

That hangs his head, and a' that ! 
The coward slave, we pass him by, 
We dare be poor for a' that ! 

For a' that, and a' that, 5 

Our toils obscure, and a' that; 
The rank is but the guinea's stamp. 
The man's the gowd for a' that! 

What though on hamely fare we dine. 

Wear hodden-gray, and a' that; 10 

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 
A man's a man for a' that! 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Their tinsel show, and a' that; 
The honest man, though e'er sae poor, 15 
Is king o' men for a' that! 

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, 

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; 
Though hundreds worship at his word, 

He 's but a coof for a' that. 20 

For a' that, and a' that, 

His ribbon, star, and a' that; 
The man of independent mind. 
He looks and laughs at a' that. 

A prince can mak a belted knight, 25 

A marquis, duke, and a' that; 
But an honest man 's aboon his might, 

Guid faith, he maunna fa' that ! 



336 POEMS FOR THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE 

For a' that, and a' that, 

Their dignities, and a' that; 30 

The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, 

Are higher rank than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may — 

As come it will for a' that — 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 35 
May bear the gree, and a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 

It 's coming yet, for a' that. 
That man to man, the warld o'er, 

Shall brothers be for a' that! 40 

Robert Burns 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 



SIR WALTER SCOTT, 1771-1832 
The first that we know of Walter Scott, he was a little 
lame, sickly child who had been sent away from Edinburgh 
to his grandfather's farm in the hope that he might grow 
stronger. Fortunately for all that love a good story, this 
hope was realized, and it was not long before he was gallop- 
ing wherever a pony could carry him and scrambling wherever 
the pony could not go. The two things that he liked best were 
this wild roaming over the country and listening to the old 
ballads and legends that his grandmother recited to him by 
the score. When he was older, he was sent to school in Edin- 
burgh. He was not the leader of his class by any means; but 
out of school there was not a boy who would not gladly follow 
him to some wild, romantic spot to listen to his stories of the 
border warfare. One day he came across a book half a cen- 
tury old which delighted his heart. It was Bishop Percy's 
Reliques. This was happiness. The hungry schoolboy forgot 
his dinner and lay out under the trees reading over and over 
again of Douglas and Percy and Robin Hood and Sir Patrick 
Spens. This book settled the question of what his life-work 
should be, though it was some years before he found his place. 
After leaving the university he studied law and was ad- 
mitted to the bar. He married, held various public offices, 
and was financially comfortable. In 1799, when he was 
twenty-eight, he made his first appearance in literature with 
some translations from German poetry. A little later he 
wrote a border ballad, The Eve of St. John. Great numbers of 
border ballads were still remembered, though they had never 
been put into print. Scott determined to collect these, and 
somewhat in the fashion of Fuller, he roamed over the coun- 
try, taking down every scrap of the old balladry, every bit of 
legend that he could get from any one who chanced to re- 
member the ancient lore. In 1802 he published Minstrelsy of 

1 With the exception of the sketch of Longfellow these are taken 
from Eva March Tappan's A Short History of England's and 
America's Literature. Houghton Mifflin Co. 



338 SIR WALTER SCOTT 

the Scottish Border, and in 1805, The Lay of the Last Minstrel, 
Then tliere was enthusiasm indeed. Men had wandered into 
distant lands for the new, the strange, the romantic; but the 
Lay revealed their own countrj^ as its home. Here was a poem 
which was song, description, dialogue, legend, superstition, 
chivalry, every-day life, — and all blended into a story told 
by an ideal story-teller. Scott's listeners were as intent as 
those of his schooldays had been. There was no more thought 
of courts and law books. The teller of stories had found his 
place. He planned a romantic novel, but laid it aside. During 
the next three years he edited various works, and in the third 
year he published Marmion. Large sums of money were com- 
ing in from his poems and also from the publishing business, 
in which he had engaged with some old school friends, and he 
was free to carry out his dearest wish, to buj^ the estate of 
Abbotsford and become one of the "landed gentry." 

In 1812, the year of his removal to Abbotsford, Chilcle Har- 
old, a brilliant poem in a new vein, came out, written by 
Lord Byron. The crowd had found a new idol, and Scott's 
next poem, published the following year, had much smaller 
sales than his previous works. Scott brought out another 
poem, but evidently the fickle public did not care for more 
of his poetry, and he began to think about the romance which 
he had planned several years earlier. The result c>f this think- 
ing was that in 1814 the reading world went wild with delight 
over Waverley, by an unknown writer; for Scott, no one 
knows just why, did not wish to be known as its author. Story 
after story followed, — one, two, even three, in a single year. 
"Walter Scott is the only man in the land who could write 
them," was the general belief; but the secret was kept for 
some time. 

Scott was happy in his home. Abbotsford was the very 
heartlistone of Scotland for a joyous hospitality. Great folk 
and little folk, rich and poor, lords and ladies, scientific men, 
artists, authors, admirers from across the sea, old school 
friends, relatives even to the twentieth degree — they were 
all welcomed to Abbotsford. Sir Walter — for George IV had 
made him a baronet — usually worked three or four hours 
before breakfast, which was between nine and ten, and per- 
haps two hours afterwards; but when noon had come, he was 
ready for any kind of amusement, provided it was out of 



WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 330 

doors, — a long walk or ride with his pet dogs, hunting or 
fishing, or whatever might suggest itself. 

It' is a pity that this happy life should have been clouded; 
but in 1826 the publishers with whom Scott was connected 
failed. The romancer might easily have freed himself from 
all claims; but instead he quietly set to work to pay with his 
pen the $650,000 that was due. Novels, histories, a nine- 
volume life of Bonaparte, editorial work, translations, were 
undertaken in rapid succession. Paralysis attacked him; still 
he struggled on. In 1831 the government loaned him a frigate 
to carry him to Italy for rest and change. 

The might 
Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes, 

wrote Wordsworth; but rest had come too late. In 1832 he re- 
turned to Abbotsford, and there he died. " Time and I against 
any two," he had said bravely when he took the enormous 
debt upon hmself. Time had failed him, but he had paid 
more than half, and the royalties on his books finally paid 
the rest. 

Scott's best work was his Scottish romances, wherein he 
aimed chiefly at telling a romantic story and laid the scene 
in the past in order to add to the romantic effect. In such 
stories as Kenihoorth, however, he shows himself the real in- 
ventor of the historical novel, that fascinating combination 
of old and new, of customs and manners that are strange 
practiced by men and women with loves and hates and in- 
stincts like our own. His power lies, first, in his knowledge of 
the past, a knowledge so full and so ready that of whatever 
age he wrote he seemed to be in his own time; second, in his 
imagination, his ability to invent incidents and picture scenes; 
third, in his power of humorous perception and characteriza- 
tion, especially in Scottish characters. There have been more 
l)rofound students than Scott, and there have been better 
makers of plots; but no man, either before or after him, has 
ever combined such familiarity with the past and such abil- 
ity to tell a story. 

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT, 1794-1878 
William Cullen Bryant was born in Cummington, 
Massachusetts, the son of a country doctor. He was brought 



340 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 



1 



up almost as strictly as if he had been born in Plymoutli a 
century and a half earlier. Still, there was much to enjoy in 
the quiet village life. There were occasional huskings, barn- 
raisings, and maple-sugar parties; there were the woods and 
the fields and the brooks and the flowers. There were books, 
and there was a father who loved them. There was little 
money to spare in the simple country home, but good books 
had a habit of finding their way thither, and the boy was 
encouraged to read poetry and to write it. Some of this en- 
couragement was perhaps hardly wise; for when he produced 
a satirical poem. The Embargo, the father straightway had it 
put into print. 

When Bryant was sixteen, he entered Williams College as 
a sophomore. His reputation went before him, and it was 
whispered among the boys, "He has written poetry and some 
of it has been printed." His college course was short, for the 
money gave out. The boy was much disappointed, but he 
went home quietly and began to study law. He did not for- 
get poetry, however, and then it was that Thanatopsis, the 
poem in the portfolio, was written. Six years later, Dr. Bryant 
came upon it by accident and recognized its greatness at a 
glance. Without a word to his son, the proud father set out 
for Boston and left the manuscript at the rooms of the North 
Avierican Revieio, which had recently been established. Tra- 
dition says that the editor who read it dropped the work in 
hand and hurried away to Cambridge to show his colleagues 
what a "find" he had made; and that one of them, Richard 
Henry Dana, declared there was some fraud in the matter, 
for no one in America could write such verse. The least ap- 
preciative reader of the poem could hardly help feeling the 
solemn majesty, the organ-tone rhythm, the wide sweep of 
noble thought. Thanatopsis is a masterpiece. It went the 
country over; and wherever it went, even in its earlier and 
less perfect form, it was welcomed as America's first great 
poem. Meanwhile, its author was practicing as a lawyer in 
a little Massachusetts village. He was working conscien- 
tiously at his profession; but fortunately he was not so fully 
employed as to have no spare hours for poetry, and it was 
about this time that he wrote his beautiful lines. To a Water- 
fowl. This poem came straight from his own heart, for he 
was troubled about his future, and, as he said, felt "very for- 
lorn and desolate." The last stanza, — 



RALPH WALDO EMERSON 341 

He who, from zone to zone. 
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight. 
In the long way that I must tread alone, 

Will lead my steps aright, — 

gave to him the comfort that it has given to many others, 
and he went on bravely. 

Dana soon brought it about that Bryant should be invited 
to read the annual poem before the Phi Beta Kappa Society at 
Harvard. The poem which he presented was T/^e ^4^es. This, 
together with Thanatopsis, To a Waterfowl, and four other 
poems, was published in a slender little volume, in 1821. 

Bryant was recognized as the first poet in the land, but 
even poets must buy bread and butter. Thus far, his poems 
had brought him a vast amount of praise and about two dol- 
lars apiece, and his law business had never given him a suffi- 
cient income. In 1825 he decided to accept a literary position 
that was offered him in New York. He soon became editor 
of The Evening Post, and this position he held for nearly fifty 
years. As an editor, he was absolutely independent, hut al- 
ways dignified and calm; and he held his paper to a high liter- 
ary standard. It was during those years that he wrote The 
Fringed Gentian, The Antiquity of Freedom, The Flood of 
Years, and other poems that our literature could ill afford to 
lose. He said that he had little choice among his poems. Irving 
liked The Rivulet; Halleck, The Apple-Tree; Dana, The Past. 
Bryant also translated the Iliad and the Odyssey. His life 
extended long after the lives of Irving and of Cooper had 
closed. Other poets had arisen in the land. They wrote on 
many themes; he wrote on few save death and nature. Their 
verses were often more warm-hearted, more passionate than 
Bryant's, and often they were easier reading; but Bryant 
never lost the place of honor and dignity that he had so fairly 
earned. He is the Father of American Poetry; and it is well 
for American poetry that it can look back to the calmness 
and strength and poise of such a founder. Lowell says : — 

He is almost the one of your poets that knows 

How much grace, strength, and dignity lie in Repose. 

RALPH WALDO EMERSON, 1803-1882 
Tins poet-philosopher was one of five boys who lived with 
their widowed mother in Boston. They were poor, for clergy- 



343 RALPH WALDO EMERSON 

men do not amass fortunes, and their father had been no ex- 
ception to the rule. The famous First Church, however, of 
which he had been in charge, did not forget the family of 
their beloved minister. Now and then other kind friends 
gave a bit of help. Once a cow was lent them, and every 
morning the boys drove her down Beacon Hill to pasture. In 
spite of their poverty it never entered the mind of any mem- 
ber of the family that the children could grow up without an 
education. Fourof the boys graduated at Harvard. The old- 
est son, who was then a sedate gentleman of twenty, opened 
a school for young ladies; and his brother Ralph, two years 
younger, became his assistant. The evenings were free, and 
the young man of eighteen was even then jotting down the 
thoughts that he was to use many years later in his essay. 
Compensation. He was a descendant of eight generations of 
ministers, and there seems to have been in his mind hardly a 
thought of entering any other profession than the ministry. 
A minister he became; but a few years later he told his con- 
gregation frankly that his belief differed on one or two points 
from theirs and it seemed to him best to resign. The}'' urged 
him to remain with them, but he did not think it wise to do so. 

A year later he went to Europe for his health. He wanted 
to see three or four men rather than places, he said. He met 
Coleridge and Wordsworth; and then he sought out the lonely 
little farm of Craigenputtock, the home of Carlyle. His com- 
ing was "like the visit of an angel," said the Scotch philoso- 
pher to Longfellow. The two men became friends, and the 
friendship lasted as long as their lives. 

When Emerson came back to America, he made his home 
in Concord, Massachusetts, but for a long while he was al- 
most as much at home on railroad trains and in stages. Those 
were the times when people were eager to hear from the lec- 
ture platform what the best thinkers of the day could tell 
them. In 1837 Emerson delivered at Harvard his Phi Beta 
Kappa address entitled The American Scholar; and then for 
the first time the American people were told seriously and 
with dignity that they must no longer listen to "the courtly 
muses of Europe." "We will walk on our own feet; we will 
work with our own hands; we will speak our own minds," 
said Emerson. These last words were the keynote of his mes- 
sage to the world. Whoever listens may hear the voice of God, 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 343 

he (leclared: and for that reason each person's individuality 
was sacred to him. Therefore it was that he met every man 
with a gently expectant deference that was far above the or- 
dinary courtesy of society. A humble working woman once 
said that she did not understand his lectures, but she liked 
to go to them and see him look as if he thought everybody else 
just as good as he. On the lecture platform Emerson's manner 
was that of one who was trying to interpret what had been 
told to him, of one who was striving to put his thoughts into 
a language which had no words to express them fully. 

Some parts of Emerson's writings are simple enough for 
a little child to understand; other parts perhaps no one but 
their author has fully comprehended. It is not easy to make 
an outline of his essays. Every sentence, instead of opening 
the gate for the next, as in Macaulay's prose, seems to stand 
alone. Emerson said with truth, "I build my house of boul- 
ders." The connection is not in the words, but in a subtle 
undercurrent of thought. The best way to enjoy his writing 
is to turn the pages of some one of his simpler essaj's. Com- 
pensation, for instance, that he planned when a young man of 
eighteen, and read whatever strikes the eye. When one has 
read: "'What will 3^ou have.'*' quoth God; 'pay for it and 
take it,'" — "The borrower runs in his own debt," — "The 
thief steals from himself," — "A great man is always willing 
to be little"; — when one has read a few such sentences, he 
cannot help wishing to begin at the beginning to see how they 
come in. Then let him take from each essay that he reads 
the part that belongs to him, and leave the rest until its day 
and moment have fully come. 

Among Emerson's poems. Each and All, The Rhodora, The 
Hiimble-Bee, The Snow-Storm, Forbearance, Woodnotes, Fable 
("The mountain and the squirrel"). Concord Hymn, and 
Boston Hymn are all easy and all well worth knowing by 
heart. He who has learned this handful of poems has met 
their author face to face, and can hardly fail to have gained 
a friendliness for him that will serve as his best interpreter. 

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, 1807-1882 
A VISITOR to Cambridge, in Massachusetts, is very sure to 
make his first question. Where did Longfellow live.? and any 
one whom he meets will be able to give the answer. The 



344 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 

ample, dignified mansion, built in Colonial days, and famous 
as the headquarters of Washington during the first year of 
the War of Independence, is in the midst of broad fields, and 
looks across meadows to the winding Charles and the gentle 
hills beyond. Great elms, fragrant lilacs and sj^ingas, stand 
by the path which leads to the door; and when the poet was 
living, the passer-by would often catch a glimpse of him as 
he paced up and down the shaded veranda which is screened 
by the shrubbery. 

Here came, in the summer of 1837, a slight, studious-look- 
ing young man, who lifted the heavy brass knocker, which 
hung then as it does now upon the front door, and very likely 
thought of the great general as he let it fall with a clang. 
He had called to see the owner of the house, Mrs. Andrew 
Craigie, widow of the apothecary-general of the Continental 
Army in the Revolution. The visitor asked if there was a 
room in her house which he could occupy. The stately old 
lady, looking all the more dignified for the turban which was 
wound about her head, answered, as she looked at the 
youthful figure : — 

"I no longer lodge students." 

"But I am not a student; I am a professor in the Uni- 
versity." 

"A professor.?" She looked curiously at one so like most 
students in appearance. 

"I am Professor Longfellow," he said. 

"Ah! that is different. I will show you what there is." 
She led him up the broad staircase, and, proud of her house, 
opened one spacious room after another, only to close the 
door of each, saying, "You cannot have that," until at 
length she led him into the southeast corner-room of the 
second story. "This was General Washington's chamber," 
she said. "You may have this " ; and here he gladly set up his 
home. The house was a large one, and already Edward Ever- 
ett and Jared Sparks had lived here. Sparks was engaged, 
singularly enough, upon the Life and Writings of Washington 
in the very house which Washington had occupied. After- 
wards, when Longfellow was keeping house here, Joseph 
E. Worcester, the maker of the dictionary, shared it with 
him, for there was room for each family to keep a sepa- 
rate establishment, and even a third could have found in- 



w 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 345 

dependent quarters. When Mrs. Craigie died Longfellow 
bought the house, and there was his home until he died. 

WJien he came to Cambridge to be Professor of Modern 
Languages and Literature in Harvard College, he was thirty 
years old. He was but eighteen when he graduated at Bow- 
doin College, in the class to which Nathaniel Hawthorne 
also belonged; and he had given such promise that he was 
almost immediately called to be professor at Bowdoin. He 
accepted the appointment on condition that he might have 
three years of travel and study in Europe. The immediate 
result of his life abroad was in some translations, chiefly from 
the Spanish, in some critical papers, and in Outre Mer [Over 
Seas], his first prose work. He continued at Bowdoin until 
1835, when he was invited to Harvard. Again he went to 
Europe for further study and travel, and after his return spent 
seventeen years in his professorship. 

Two years after he had begun to teach in Harvard College 
he published Hyperion, a Romance. Hyperion, in classic 
mythology, is the child of heaven and earth, and in this ro- 
mance the story is told of a young man who had earthly sor- 
rows and fortunes, but heavenly desires and hopes. It con- 
tains many delightful legends and fancies which travel and 
student life in Europe had brought to the poet's knowledge, 
and which he had carried back to his coimtrymen in America. 
Once afterward, in 1849, he published a romance of New 
England, Kavanagh; but in the same year that saw Hyperion 
there appeared a thin volume of poems entitled Voices of 
the Night; and after that Longfellow continued to publish 
volumes of poetry, sometimes a book being devoted to a 
single poem, as Evangeline or The Courtship of Miles Standi-sh 
or Hiawfitha, more often containing a collection of shorter 
poems, and sometimes, as in the Tales of a Wayside Inn, a 
number of poems pleasantly woven into a story in verse. 

The house in which Longfellow lived was full of sugges- 
tion of his work, and it remains much as he left it. "The 
study," as some one wrote of it during the poet's lifetime, 
"is a busy literary man's workshop: the table is piled with 
pamphlets and papers in orderly confusion; a high desk in 
one corner suggests a practice of standing while writing, and 
gives a hint of one secret of the poet's singularly erect form 
at an age when the body generally begins to stoop and the 



346 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 

shoulders to grow round; an orange-tree stands in one win- 
dow; near it a stuffed stork keeps watch; on the table is Cole- 
ridge's ink-stand; upon the walls are crayon likenesses of 
Emerson, Hawthorne, and Sumner." Here, too, is the chair 
made from the wood of the spreading chestnut-tree under 
which the village smith}' stood, and given to the poet by the 
children of Cambridge; here is the pen presented by "beauti- 
ful Helen of Maine," the old Danish song-book and the an- 
tique pitcher; upon the stair-case is the old clock, which 
Points and beckons with its hands; 

one looks out from the chamber windows across the meadows 
upon the gentle Charles — 

Friends I love have dwelt beside thee. 
And have made thy margin dear; 

following the river one sees the trees and chimneys of Elm- 
wood, and perhaps a flight of 

herons winging their way 
O'er the poet's ho^ise in the Elmwood thickets; 

while farther still one catches sight of the white tower of 
Mount Auburn and thinks of the graves there to which so 
many of the poet's friends were borne, and to which he him- 
self was at last carried. It would be a pleasant task to 
read closely in Longfellow's poems and discover all the kind 
words which he has written of his friends. A man is known 
by the company he keeps. How fine must have been that 
nature which gathered into immortal verse the friendship of 
Agassiz, Hawthorne, Lowell, Sumner, Whittier, Tennyson, 
Irving; and chose for companionship among the dead such 
names as Chaucer, Dante, Keats, Milton, Shakespeare. All 
these names, and more, will be found strung as beads upon 
the golden thread of Longfellow's verse. 

After all, the old house where the poet lived was most 
closely connected with his poems because it was a home. 
Here his children grew, and out of its chambers issued those 
undying poems which sing the deep life of the fireside. In 
The Golden Mile-Stone he smgs: — 

Each man's chimney is his Golden Milc-Stone; 
Is the central point, from which he measures 

Every distance 
Through the gateways of the world around him; 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 347 

and the secret of Longfellow's power is in the perfect art 
with whicli he brought all the treasures of the old world 
stories, and all the hopes of the new, to this central point; 
his own fireside fed the flames of poetic genius, and kept them 
burning steadily and purely. 

Longfellow was born in Portland, Maine, February 27, 
1807. He had two sons and three daughters, and these three 
are celebrated in The Children s Hour. The poet always 
welcomed children to his house, and he was made very happy 
by their thought of him. His seventy-fifth birthday was 
celebrated by school-children all over the country. A few 
days after, he was taken ill, and died March 24, 1882. 

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER, 1808-1892 
In a quiet Quaker farmhouse in the town of Haverhill, 
there lived a boy who longed for books and school, but had to 
stay at home and work on the farm. The family library con- 
sisted of about thirty volumes, chiefly the lives of prominent 
Quakers. The boy read these over and over and even made 
a catalogue of them in rhyme. One day the schoolmaster came 
to the house with a copy of Burns's poems in his pocket. He 
read aloud poem after poem, and the bright-eyed boy lis- 
tened as if his mind had been starved. "Shall I lend it to 
you?" the master asked, and the boy took the book grate- 
fully. After a while he paid a visit to Boston and came home 
happy but a little conscience-smitten, for he had bought a 
copy of Shakespeare, and he knew that Quakers did not 
approve of plays. 

One day when the boy and his father were mending a stone 
wall, a man rode by distributing Garrison's Free Press to its 
subscribers. He tossed a paper to the boy, who glanced 
from page to page, looking cspecialljs as was his wont, at the 
corner where the poetry was usually printed. He read there 
"The Exile's Departure." "Thee had better put up the 
paper and go to work," said his father; but still the boy 
gazed, for the poem was signed "W.," and it was his own! 
His older sister Mary had quietly sent it to the editor with- 
out saying anything to her brother. The next scene was like 
a fairy story. Not long afterwards a carriage stopped at the 
door. A young man, well dressed and with the easy manner 
of one used to society, inquired for his new contributor. "I 



348 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

can't go in," declared the shy poet. "Thee must," said the 
sister Mary. Mr. Garrison told the family that the son had 
"true poetic genius," and that he ought to have an educa- 
tion. "Don't thee put such notions into the boy's head," 
said the father, for he saw no way to afford even a single term 
"at school. A way was arranged, however, hy which the young 
man could pay his board; and he had one year at an academy. 
This was almost his only schooling, but he was an eager stu- 
dent all the days of his life. 

Through Garrison's influence an opportunity^ to do edi- 
torial work was offered him. He became deeply interested in 
public matters. The very air was tingling with the question : 
Slavery or no slavery ? He threw the whole force of his thought 
and his pen against slavery. From the peace-loving Quaker 
came lyrics that were like the clashing of swords. 

The years passed swiftly, and Whittier gained reputation 
as a poet slowly. He published several early volumes or 
poems, but it was not until 1866 that he really touched the 
heart of the country, for then he published Snoio-Bound. 
There are poems by scores that portray passing moods or 
tell interesting stories or describe beautiful scenes; but, save 
for Burns's The Cotter's Saturday Night, there is hardly an- 
other that gives so vivid a picture of home life. We almost 
feel the chill in the air before the coming storm; we fancy 
that we are with the group who sit "the clean-winged hearth 
about" : we listen to the "tales of witchcraft old," the stories 
of Indian attacks, of life in the logging camps; we see the 
schoolmaster, the Dartmouth boy who is teasing "the mit- 
ten-blinded cat" and telling of college pranks. The mother 
turns her wheel, and the days pass till the storm is over and 
the roads are open. The poem is true, simple, and vivid, and 
it is full of such phrases as "the sun, a snow-blown traveller"; 
"the great throat of the chimney laughed"; "between the 
andirons' straddling feet," — phrases that outline a picture 
with the sure and certain touch of a master. The poem is 
"real," but with the reality given by the brush of an artist. 
Snow-Bound is Whittier's masterpiece; but The Eternal 
Goodness and some of his ballads, The Barefoot Boy, hi 
School-Days, Among the Hills, Telling the Bees, and a few 
other poems, come so close to the heart that they can never 
be forgotten. 



ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON 349 

Whittier was always fond of children. The story is told 
that he came from the pine woods one day with his pet, 
Phebe, and said merrily, "Phebe is seventy, I am seven, and 
we both act like sixty." He lived to see his eighty-fifth birth- 
day in the midst of love and honors. One who was near him 
when the end came tells us that among his last whispered 
words were "Love to the world." 

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON, 1809-92 
Two stories have been saved from Tennesson's childhood. 
One is of the five-year-old child tossing his arms in the blast 
and crying, " I hear a voice that 's speaking in the wind." The 
other is of an older brother's reading a slateful of the little 
Alfred's verses and declaring judicially, "Yes, j^ou can 
write." There were twelve of the Tennyson children. "They 
all wrote verses," said a neighbor; and when Alfred was 
seventeen and one of his brothers a year older, they pub- 
lished a little book of verse. Two years later Alfred entered 
college, and while in college he published Poems, Chiefly 
Lyrical. These seem less like completed works than like the 
first sketches of an artist for a picture. They are glimpses of 
the poet's talent, experiments in sound rather than expres- 
sions of thought. In 1832 he brought out a little volume 
which ought to have convinced whoever glanced at it that a 
true poet had arisen, for here were not only such poems as 
The May Queen and Lady Clara Vere de Vere, which were 
sure to strike the popular fancy, but also The Dream of Fair 
Women, The Lohis-Eaters, and The Lady of Shalott. Never- 
theless, the critics were severe; and this was perhaps the best 
thing that could have happened to the young poet, for he set 
to work to study and think. Ten years later he brought out 
two more volumes, and then there was no question that he 
was the first poet of his time. The best known of these poems 
are his thrilling little song, — 

Break, break, break, 

On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! 

And I would that my tongue could utter 
The thoughts that arise in me, 

and Locksley Hall. The latter has been read and recited and 
quoted and parodied, but it is not even yet worn out. Here are 
the two stanzas that were Tennyson's special favorites : — 



350 ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON 

Love took up the glass of Time and turn'd it in his glowing hands; 
Every moment, Hghtly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. 

Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with 

might; 
Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight. 

In these volumes, too, were Morte d' Arthur and snatches of 
poems on Galahad and Launcelot, — enough to show^ that 
Tennyson had found old Malory, and that the stories of King 
Arthur and the Round Table were haunting his mind. When 
The Princess came out, there was some criticism of the im- 
possible story in a probable setting, of the mingling of the 
earnest and the burlesque, which the poet had not entirely 
forestalled by calling the poem a Medley. It is a very beauti- 
ful medley, how'ever, and the songs which were interspersed 
in the later edition are most exquisite. Here are " Sweet and 
Low," "The splendor falls on castle walls," and others. 

The year I80O was a marked season for Tennyson. It was 
the year of his marriage to the lady from whom financial 
reasons had separated him for twelve years; it was the year 
of publication of In Memoriam and of his appointment as 
Laureate. In Memoriam was called forth by the death of 
Arthur Henry Hallam, Tennyson's best-loved college friend, 
which took place seventeen years earlier. It is a collection of 
short poems, gleams of his thoughts of his friend, changing as 
time passed from "large grief," from questioning, "How 
fares it with the happy dead?" from tender memories of 
Hallam's words and waj^s — from all these to the hour when 
he who grieved could rest — 

And hear at times a sentinel 

Who moves about from place to place 
And whispers to the world of space. 

In the deep night, that all is well. 

The duties of the Laureate have vanished, but there is a 
mild expectation that he will manifest some interest in the 
greater events of the kingdom by an occasional poem. Tenny 
son fulfilled this expectation generously, and his Laureate 
poems have a clear ring of sincerity. They range all the way 
from his welcome to Queen Alexandra of England, — 

Sea-kings' daughter from over the sea. 






ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON 351 

to his superb Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington : — 

Bury the Great Duke 

With an empire's lamentation, 
Let us l)ury the Great Duke 

To the noise of the mourning of a mighty nation. 

Not only sincerity, but tender respect and sympathj', unite 
in his dedication of the Idylls of the King to the memory of 
Prince Albert: — 

These to His Memory — since he held them dear. 
Perchance as finding there unconsciously 
Some image of himself. 

To the queen in her sadness he says: — 

Break not, O woman's heart, but still endure; 
Break not, for thou art Royal, but endure. 

In the Idylls Tennyson had come to his kingdom; for the 
"dim, rich" legends were after his own heart. Here was a 
thread of story which he could alter as he would; here were 
love, valor, innocence, faithlessness, treachery, religious 
ecstasy, an earthly journey with a heavenly recompense. 
Here were opportunities for the brilliant and varied ornament 
in which he delighted, for all the beauties of description, and 
for character drawing as strong as it was delicate. 

In the Idylls Tennyson shows his power to present the 
complex in character; but in Enoch Arden he draws with no 
less skill a simple fisherman who through no fault of his own 
meets lifelong sorrow and loneliness. Enoch is wrecked on a 
desert island, and his wife, believing him dead, finally yields 
and marries his friend. After many years Enoch finds his 
way home, but his home is his no more, and he prays : — 

Uphold me. Father, in my loneliness 
A little longer! aid me, give me strength 
Not to tell her, never to let her know. 
Help me not to break in upon her peace. 

So simply, so naturally is the story told that the whole force 
of the silent tragedy, of the greatness of the fisherman hero, 
is not realized till the triumph of the closing words, — 

So past the strong, heroic soul away. 

Yielding to the fascination which the drama has for men 
of literary genius, Tennyson wrote several historical plays. 



352 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 

but this was not his field. The characters are not Hfehke, 
and, though the plays read well, they do not act well. 

Among his last work was Crossing the Bar. Every true poet 
has a message. His was of faith and trust, and nothing could 
be more fitting as his envoy than the closing stanza of this 
lyric : — 

For though from out our bourne of Time and Place 

The flood may bear me far, 
I hope to see my Pilot face to face 

When I have crost the bar. 

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, 1809-1894 
On the page for August in a copy of the old Massachu- 
setts Register for 1809, the twenty-ninth day is marked, and 
at the bottom of the page is a foot-note, "Son b." In this 
laconic fashion was noted the advent of the physician-novel- 
ist-poet. He had also a chance of becoming a clergyman and 
a lawyer; for his father favored the one profession, and he 
himself gave a year's study to the other. It was while he was 
poring over Blackstone that the order was given to break up 
the old battleship Constitution. Then it was that he wrote Old 
Iro7isides. The poem was printed on handbills. They were 
showered about the streets of Washington, and the Secretary 
of the Navy revoked his order. Holmes was twenty-one. The 
question of a profession was still unsettled. Finally he de- 
cided to be a physician; but, as he said, "The man or woman 
who has tasted type is sure to return to his old indulgence 
sooner or later." In Holmes's case, it was sooner, for he had 
hardly taken his degree before the publishers were advertis- 
ing a volume of his poems. Here were My Aimt, The Septem- 
ber Gale, and best of all, The Last Leaf, the verses that one 
reads with a smile on the lips and tears in the eyes. 

The j'oung physician's practice did not occupy much of 
his time, chiefly because he wrote poetry and made witty re- 
marks. These were a delight to the well folk, but the sick 
people were a little afraid of a doctor whose interest and 
knowledge were not limited to pills and powders. Moreover, 
the man who laj^ ill of a fever could not forget that the bril- 
liant young M.D. had said jauntily of his slender practice, 
"Even the smallest fevers thankfully received." Soon an 
invitation came to teach anatomy at Dartmouth; and, a few 



f| 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 353 

years later, to teach the same subject at Harvard. Holmes 
was successful in both places; for with all his love of litera- 
ture,, he had a genuine devotion to his profession. He wrote 
much on medical subjects, and three times his essays gained 
the famous Boylston prize, offered annually by Harvard Col- 
lege for the best dissertations on questions in medical science. 
In 1857, the publishers, Phillips, Sampson and Co., de- 
cided to establish a new magazine. " Will you be its editor.'* " 
they asked Lowell; and he finally replied, "Yes, if Dr. 
Holmes can be the first contributor to be engaged." Dr. 
Holmes became not only the first contributor, but he named 
the magazine The Atlantic. Some twenty-five years earlier he 
had written two papers called The Autocrat of the Breakfast 
Table. He now continued them, beginning, "I was just going 
to say when I was interrupted." The scene is laid at the table 
of a boarding-house. The Autocrat carries on a brilliant mon- 
ologue, broken from time to time by a word from the lady 
who asks for original poetry for her album, from the theo- 
logical student, the old gentleman, or the young man John; 
or by an anxious look on the face of the landlady, to whom 
some paradoxical speech of the Autocrat's suggests insanity 
and the loss of a boarder. Howells calls The Autocrat a 
"dramatized essay"; but, whatever it is called, it will bear 
many readings and seem brighter and fresher at each one. 
Among the paragraphs of The Autocrat and The Professor, 
which followed, a number of poems are interspersed. Three 
of them are The One-IIoss Shay, with its irrefutable logic; 
Contentment, with its modest — 

I only wish a hut of stone 

(A very plain brown stone will do), — 

and the exquisite lines of The Chambered Nautilus, with its 
superb appeal, — 

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul! 

Holmes was also a novelist; for he produced Elsie Venner 
and two other works of fiction, all showing power of charac- 
terization, and all finding their chief interest in some study of 
the mysterious connection between mind and body. "Medi- 
cated novels," a friend mischievously called them, somewhat 
to the wrath of their author. 

Nearly half of Holmes's poems were written for some spe- 



354 ROBERT BROWNING 

cial occasion, — some anniversary, or class reunion, or re- 
ception of a famous guest. At such times he was at his best; 
for the demand for occasional verse, which freezes most 
wielders of the pen, was to him a breath of inspiration. 

Holmes's wit is ever fascinating, his pathos is ever sincere; 
but the charm that will perhaps be even more powerful to 
hold his readers is his delightful personality, which is re- 
vealed in every sentence. A book of his never stands alone, 
for the beloved Autocrat is ever peeping through it. His 
tender heart first feels the pathos that he reveals to us; his 
kindly spirit is behind every flash of wit, every sword-thrust 
of satire. 

ROBERT BROWNING, 1812-1889 
One of the most interesting of Robert Browning's writings 
is a letter which says. "I love your verses with all my heart, 
dear Miss Barrett." Miss Barrett was the author of several 
volumes of poems, many of them full of sympathy, of tender 
sentiment, and of religious trust, — poems of the sort that 
sink into the hearts of those who love a poem even without 
knowing why. One of these is The Cry of the Children, mean- 
ing the children who were toiling in mills and in mines. It 
pictures their sadness and weariness, and closes with the 
strong lines, — 

But the child's sob in the silence curses deeper 
Than the strong man in his wrath. 

Another favorite is The Rhyme of the Duchess May, which 
ends with a good thought expressed with the poet's frequent 
disregard of rhyme : — 

And I smiled to think God's greatness flowed around our 

incompleteness, 
Round our restlessness. His rest. 

The author had been an invalid for years, and she was 
able to see only a few people. She replied to Mr. Browning's 
letter, "Sympathy is dear — very dear to me; but the sym- 
pathy of a poet, and of such a poet, is the quintessence of 
sympathy!" It was four months before Miss Barrett was 
able to receive a call from Mr. Browning, but at last they 
met. Some time later they were married ; and until the death 
of Mrs. Browning, in 1861, they made their home in Italy, — a 



ROBERT BROWNING 355 

home which was ideal in its love and happiness. Mr. Brown- 
ing had written much poetry, but it was not nearly so fa- 
mous as that of his wife. It was harder to understand; for 
some of it was on philosophical subjects, and some of it was 
dramatic. Sometimes it is not easy to tell how to classify a 
poem; his Paracelsus, for instance, is called a drama, but it 
is almost entirely made up of monologue. The simplest of 
his dramas is Pippa Passes. The young girl Pippa is a silk- 
winder who has but one holiday in the year. When the joyful 
morning has come, she names over the "Four Happiest" in 
the little town and says to herself, — 

I will pass each and see their happiness 
And envy none. 

She "passes," first, by the house wherein is one of the 
"Happiest"; but Pippa does not know that this one and her 
lover have just committed a murder. As Pippa sings, — 

God's in his heaven — 
All 's right with the world, 

the horror of their crime comes over them, and they repent 
of their evil. So the song of the pure little maiden touches the 
life of each one of the "Four Happiest"; but the child goes 
to sleep wondering whether she could ever come near enough 
to the great folk to "do good or evil to them some slight 
way." 

After their marriage both Mr. and Mrs. Browning contin- 
ued to write. Mrs. Browning's most conspicuous work was 
Aurora Leigh, a novel in verse which discusses many socio- 
logical questions, — too many for either a novel or a poem, — 
and her beautiful Sonnets from the Portuguese, which were in 
reality not from the Portuguese, but straight from her own 
heart, and which tell with most exquisite delicacy the story 
of her love for her husband. Browning published two vol- 
umes before the death of his wife, Christmas Eve and Easter 
Dai), and Men and Women. In 1868-69, more than thirty-five 
years after he began to write, he published The Ring and the 
Book. This is the story of an Italian murder, which in the 
course of the poem is related by a number of different per- 
sons. It met with a hearty reception, partly because it is not 
only a poem and a fine one but also a wonderful picturing of 
the impression made by one act upon several unlike persons; 



356 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 

and partly because in those thirty-five years Browning's ad- 
mirers, consisting for a long time of one reader here and an- 
other one there, had increased until now his audience was 
ready for him. Indeed, it was growing with amazing rapidity, 
partly because of his real merit, and partly because he some- 
times wrote in most mvolved and obscure fashion. People 
who liked to think were pleased with the resistance of the 
more difficult poems; they liked to puzzle out the meaning. 
People who did not like to think but who did wish to be 
counted among the thinkers hastened to buy Browning's 
poems and to join Browning clubs. 

The best way for most people to enjoy these poems is not 
to struggle with some obscure and unimportant difficulty of 
phrase or of thought, but to read first what they like best, 
and find little by little what he has said that belongs to them 
especially. Read some of the shorter lyrics: Prospice, The 
Lost Leader, The Pied Piper of Hamelin, that weird and fas- 
cinating rhyme for children, and Rabbi Ben Ezra, with its 
magnificent — 

Grow old along with me! 
The best is yet to be. 

Those last two lines are the keynote of Browning's inspira- 
tion, his cheerful courage in looking at life and his robust 
confidence in the blessedness of the life that lies beyond. 
One cannot have too much of Browning. 

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, 1819-1891 

A BIG, roomy house, fields, woods, pastures, libraries, a 
college at hand, older brothers and sisters, a father and 
mother of education and refinement, — such were the sur- 
roundings of Lowell's early life. The Vision of Sir Launfal 
shows how well he learned the out-of-door world; his essays 
prove on every page how familiar he became with the world 
of books. 

When the time for college had come, there were diflficul- 
ties. The boy was ready to read every volume not required 
by the curriculum, and to keep every rule except those in- 
vented by the faculty. W^hen graduation time drew near, his 
parents were in Rome. Some one hastened to tell them that 
their son had been rusticated to Concord for six weeks and 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 357 

had also been chosen class poet. " Oh, dear ! " exclaimed the 
despairing father, "James promised me that he would quit 
writing poetry and go to work." 

Fortunately for the lovers of good poetry, "James" did 
not keep his word. He struggled manfully to become a law- 
yer, but he could not help being a poet. Just ten years after 
graduating, he brought out in one short twelvemonth three 
significant poems. The first was The Vision of Sir Launfal, 
with its loving outburst of sympathy with nature. He knew 
well how the clod — 

Groping blindly above it for light, 
Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers. 

Sir Launfal, too, climbs to a soul, for the poem is the story 
of a life. Thesecondpoemv,a.s A Fable for Critics. The fable 
proper is as dull as the preposterous rhymes and unthinkable 
puns of Lowell will permit; but its pithy criticisms of vari- 
ous authors have well endured the wear and tear of half a 
century. The third was The Biglow Papers. Here was an 
entirely new vein. Here the Yankee dialect — which is so 
often only a survival of the English of Shakespeare's day — ■ 
became a literary language. Lowell could have easily put his 
thoughts into the polished sentences of the scholar; but the 
homely wording which he chose to employ gives them a cer- 
tain everyday strength and vigor that a smoother phrasing 
Nvould have weakened. When he writes, — 

Ez fer war, I call it murder; 

There you hev it plain an' flat; 
I don't want to go no furder 

Than my Testyment fer that, — 

he strikes a blow that has something of the keenness of the 
sword and the weight of the cudgel. 

These three poems indicate the three directions in which 
Lowell did his best work; for he was poet, critic, and re- 
former, — sometimes all three in one. In such poems as The 
Present Crisis, that stern and solemn arraignment of his 
countrymen, there is as much of earnest protest as of poetry. 
So in The Dandelion, his "dear, common flower" reveals to 
him not only its own beauty, but the thought that every 
human heart is sacred. 

Lowell's lyrics are onlj' a small part of his work; for he 



358 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 

took the place of Longfellow at Harvard, he edited the 
Atlantic and the North American Review; he wrote many 
magazine articles on literary and political subjects; he de- 
livered addresses and poems, the noble Commemoration Ode 
ranking highest of all; and he was minister, first to Spain and 
then to England. In his prose writings one is almost over- 
whelmed with the wideness of his knowledge, yet there is 
never a touch of pedantry. He always writes as if his readers 
were as much at home in the world of books as himself. The 
serious thought is ever brightened by gleams of humor, 
flashes of wit. When we take up one of his writings, it will 
"perchance turn out a song, perchance turn out a sermon." 
It may be full of strong and manly thought, and it may be all 
a-whirl with rollicking merriment; but whatever else it is, it 
will be sincere and honest and interesting. It is easier to label 
and classify the man who writes in but one manner, and it may 
be that he wins a surer fame; but we should be sorry indeed 
to miss either scholar, critic, wit, or reformer from the work 
of the poet Lowell. 



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Leavitt and Brown's Prevocational Education 

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Hall's The Question as a Factor in Teaching . 1.30 

Kready's a Study of Fairy Tales 1.40 

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Brownlee's Character Building in School . . . 1.25 

A Course in Citizenship and Patriotism .... 1.50 

Bloomfield's Youth, School, and Vocation . . 1.35 

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The Kindergarten 1.50 

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THEORY AND PRINCIPLES OF EDUCATION 

Bobbitt's The Curriculum 1.50 

McMurry's (F. M.) How to Study and Teaching 

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1S23 



RIVERSIDE LITERATURE SERIES 



(Continued) 



149. Sh'akespeare's Twelfth Night. 

150. Oiiida's Dog of FlaiiUers, etc. 
\ii\. Kvviiig's .Jai-kanapes, etc. 

lij'j. Martiiieau's Tlie Peasant and the Prinre. 
l.">3. Shakespeare's MiUsummerNight's Dream. 

154. Shakespeare'.s Tempest. 

155. Irving's Life of Goldsmith. 

15(>. Touiiysoii's Gareth aud Lynette, etc. 

157. The Song of Roland. 

158. Malory's Merlin and Sir Balin. 
1.51). Beowulf. 

Kid. Spenser's Faerie Queene. Book I. 

Ilil. Dickens's Tale of Two Cities. 

Wl. I'rose and Poeti'y of Cardinal Newman. 

I(i3. Shakespe.are's Henry V. 

1(!4. l)e Qiiincey's Joan of Arc, etc. 

Il'i5. Scott's Qnentin Durward. 

ll!(i. Carlyle's Heroes and Hero- Worship. 

1(>7. LoMj-fellow's Autobiographical Poems. 

I(i8. Shelley's Poems. 

Ki'J. Lowell's My Garden Acquaintance, etc. 

17((. Lamb's Essays of Elia. 

171, 17'2. Emerson's Essays. 

17:5. Kate Douglas \Viggin'.3 Flag-Raising. 

174. Kate Douglas Wiggin's Finding a Home. 

175. Whitlier's Autobiographical Poems. 
17(>. Burroughs's Afoot and Afloat. 

177. Bacon's Essays. 

17S. Selections from John Ruskin. 

17;i. King .\rthur Stories from Malory. 

ISO. Palmer's Ody.ssey. 

181. Goldsmith's The Good-Natured Man. 

18'i. Goldsmith's She Stoops to Conquer. 

1.S3. Old English and Scottish Ballads. 

IM. Shakespeare's King Lear. 

l.S.5. Moores's Life of Lincoln. 

l.SC). Thoreau's Camping in the Maine Woods. 

187, 188. Huxley's Autobiogr.aphy, and E.^says. 

ISit. Byron's Cliilde Harold, Canto IV, etc. 

100. Washington's Farewell Address, aud Web- 

ster's Bunker Hill Or.ation. 

101. The Seconii Shepherds' Play, etc. 
lO'i. Mrs. Gaskell's Cr.inford. 

10:5. Williams's ^neid. 

104. Irving's Bracehridge Hall. Selections. 

105. Thoreau's Walden. 
llNi. Slieridan's The Rivals. 

107. Parton's Captains of Industry. Selected. 
lOS.IitO. Maeaulay's Lord Clive and W.Hastings. 
2(K1. Howells's The Rise of Silas Lapham. 

201. Harris's Little l\Ir.Tliim!>lefhiger Stories. 

202. .lewett's The Nigtit Before Thanksgiving. 
' 20;}. Shumwav's Nibelungenlied. 

204. Sheffiehl's Old Testament Narrative. 

205. Powers's A Dickens Header. 
2<h;. Goethe's Faust. Part I. 
207. Cooper's The Spy. 

20S. AMrich's Story of a Bad Boy. 
2O0. Warner's Being a Boy. 

210. Kate l>ouglas Wiggin's Polly Oliver's Pro- 

blem. 

211. Milton's Areopagitica, etc. 

^12. Shakespeare's Komeo anil .Inliet. 
21.3. Hemingw.iy's Le Morte Arthur. 
214. Moores's Life of Columbus. 



215. Bret Harte's Tennessee's Partner, etc. 

216. Ralph Roister Doister. 

217. Gorboduo. (/« preparation.) 

218. Selected Lyrics from Wordsworth, Keats, 

and Shelley. 

219. Selected Lyrics from Dryden, Collins, 

Gray, Cowper, and Burns. 

220. Southern Poems. 

221. Macanlay's Speeches on Copyright; Lin- 

coln's Cooper Union Address. 

222. Briggs's College Life. 

223. Selections from the Prose Writings of Mat- 

thew Arnold. 

224. Perry's American Mind and American 

Idealism. 

225. Newman's University Subjects. 

220. Burroughs's Studies in Nature aud Lit- 
erature. 

227. Bryce's Promoting Good Citizenship. 

228. Selected English Letters. 
22'.). Jewett's Play-Day Stories. 
2:10. Grenf ell's Adrift on an Ice-Pan. 
2ol. Muir's Stickeen. 

232. Harte's Waif of the Plains, etc. (hi 

prejia rati 071.) 

233. Tennyson's The Coming of Arthur, the 

Holy Grail and the Passing of Arthur. 

234. Selected Essays. 

2.35. Briggs's To College Girls. 

2:'.(). Lowell's Literary Essays. (Selected.) 

235. Short Stones. 

239. Selections from American Poetry. 

240. Howells's The Sleeping Car, "and The 

Parlor Car. 

241. Mills's The Story of a Thousand- Year 

Pine, etc. 

242. Eliot's Training for an Effective Life. 

243. Bryant's Iliad. Abridged Edition. 

244. Lockwood's English Sonnets. 

245. Antin's At School in tlie Promised Land. 
24(1. Sbepard's Shakespeare Questions. 

247. Muir's The Boyhood of a Naturalist. 
2-18. Boswell's Life of .lolmson. 

249. Palmer's Self-Cnltivation in English, and 

Tlie Glory of the Imperfect. 

250. Sheridan's The School for Scandal. 

251. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and 

Piers the Ploughman. 

2.52. Howells's A Modern Instance. 

2.53. Helen Keller's The Story of My Life. 
254. Rittenhouse's The Little Book of Modern 

Verse. 

2.55. Rittenhouse's The Little Book of Ameri- 
can Poets. 

2.5fi. Richards's High Tide. 

'257. Kipling Stories and Poems Every Child 
Should Know, Book I. 

258. Kipling Stories and Poems Every Child 

Should Know, Book II. 

259. Burroughs's The Wit of a Diick and Other 

Papers. 
200. Irving's T.ales from the Alhambra. 
2('d. Liberty, Peace, and .In.stice. 
2r.2. A Treasury of War Poetry. 
'2113. Peabody'sThe Piper. 



(See also back cover) 



(75) 



RIVERSIDE LITERATURE SERIES 



(Continued) 
EXTRA NUMBERS 



A American Authors and their Birthdays. 

C Warriner ' s Teaching of English Classics 
in the Grades. 

f> Scudder's Literature in School. 

F Longfellow Leaflets. 

G Whittier Leaflets. 

If Holmes Leaflets. 

J Thomas' sHowtoTeachEnglish Classics. 

./ Holbrook's Northland Heroes. 

JC Minimum College Requirements in Eng- 
lish for Study. ' 

/, The Riverside Song Book. 

M Lowell's Fable for Critics. 

A' Selections from American Authors. 

(> Lowell Leaflets. 

/' Holbrook's Hiawatha Primer. 

Q Selections from English Authors. 

Ji Hawthorne's Twice-Told Tales. Selected. 



Se- 



S Irving's Essays from Sketch Book. 

lected. 

T Literature for the Study of Language. 

l^ A Dramatization of the Song of Hia- 
watha. 

V Holbrook's Book of Nature Myths. 

W Brown's In the Days of Giants. 

X Poems for the Study of Language. 

1' Warner's In the Wilderness. 

Z Nine Selected Poems. 

A A Coleridge's The Ancient Mariner and 
Lowell's The Vision of Sir Launfal. 

SB Poe's The Raven, Whittier's Snow- 
Bound, and Longfellow's The Court- 
ship of Miles Standish. 

CO Selections for Study and Memorizing. 

I)D Sharp's The Year Out-of-Doors. 

EJ<: Poems for Memorizing. 



LIBRARY BINDING 

135-136. Chaucer's Prologue, The Knight's Tale, and The Nun's Priest's Tale. 
160. Spenser's Faerie Queene, Book I. 
166. Carlyle's Heroes and Hero-Worship. 
168. Shelley's Poems. Selected. 

177. Bacon's Essays. 

178. Selections from the Works of John Ruskin. 

181-182. Goldsmith's The Good-Natured Man, and She Stoops to Conquer. 

183. Old English and Scottish Ballads. 

187-188. Huxley's Autobiography and Selected Essays. 

191. Second Shepherd's Play, Everyman, etc. 

Milton's Areopagitica, etc. 

Ralph Roister Doister. 

Briggs's College Life. 

Selections from the Prose Works of Matthew Arnold. 

Perry's The American Mind and American Idealism. 

Newman's University Subjects. 

Burroughs 's Studies in Nature and Literature. 

Bryce's Promoting Good Citizenship. 

Briggs's To College Girls. 

Selected Literary Essays from James Russell Lowell. 

Eliot's The Training for an Effective Life. 

Lockwood's English Sonnets. 

Shepard's Shakespeare Questions. 

Boswell's Life of Johnson. Abridged. 

Sheridan's The School for Scandal. 

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and Piers the Ploughman. 

Howells's A Modern Instance. 

Rittenhouse's The Little Book of Modern Verse. C 



211. 
216. 

222. 
223. 
224. 
225. 
226. 
227 

335. 
236. 
242. 
244. 
246. 
248. 
250. 
251. 
252. 
254. 
255- 
256. 
K. 



\ 



^ 



X^ 



Rittenhouse's The Little Book of American Poets. 

Richards's High Tide. 

Minimum College Requirements in English for Study. 



^^ 



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